


Nuremburg 29: The Price of Freedom

by FlyByNightGirl, lapoesieestdanslarue



Series: Nuremberg 29 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avocados and Popsicle friendships, Bucky's trial, Civil War (Marvel), M/M, Nelson & Murdock lawfirm kicks ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:29:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyByNightGirl/pseuds/FlyByNightGirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue/pseuds/lapoesieestdanslarue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant James Barnes is on trial for the murder of Howard and Maria Stark.</p><p>When a boy from Brooklyn needs a lawyer, where else to look but the underside of New York? Say, Hell's Kitchen?</p><p>aka the Avengers and the Avocados and lots of battling and beating hearts</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuremburg 29: The Price of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: mention of the rape of a minor character in the trial, violent depictions of abuse through torture, people are assholes about trauma
> 
> Also disclaimer, neither of us are lawyers, so this isn't perfect. However we did try to follow the general format what we could. Not to mention that we live in different countries with different judicial systems which cause occasional conflict, so.

Heavy, dark grey clouds loom overhead, threatening rain at any second. Tony stands, looking out over the bleak and cloud laden sky of the Washington skyline. Below cars beep loudly, revving their engines as people walk the streets, lost in a sea of black and grey suits and briefcases. He tightens the new cufflinks on the jacket of his sleeves, finding the cool metal somewhat comforting.

He takes a deep breath, letting air reach the bottom of his lungs. He hates the smell of hotels. They all smell the same no matter where you go- faintly like bed linen, faintly like cleaning products. Tony despises it - but this room is different. Peppers' perfume fills his nostrils, and the small ball of nerves that had settled in his stomach dissipates.

Behind him he can hear the faint 'thud' of her high heels on the thick carpet. He twists his torso to face her, raises an eyebrow.

"So," he asks, holding out both hands. "How do I look?"

Pepper takes him in, and let's out a "Hmmmm."

"'Hmmmm'? What's 'hmmmm' supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't like your tie," she calls over her shoulder, as she over to his suitcase that's sitting flung open on the bed and starts to rummage through it. After a second she gives a victorious 'Ah ha!' And holds up a deep blue silk tie.

"What's wrong with this one?" He asks follows reluctantly, loosening the black tie he has on now, and Pepper tuts when she sees his method.

"Black is plain, boring, even. It makes you look like you're going to a funeral," she explains. She gives him an indulgent smile. "But blue adds some colour, and brings out your eyes."

She shoos his hands away in favour for her own, and she gently fiddles with the tie, until it's loose enough to fit over Tony's head.

"Are you nervous?" She asks quietly as she concentrates on the silk knot.

"No," Tony answers automatically. "Why would I be?"

"Don't lie to me, Tony." She looks at him. "You know why."

He does. Cap isn't going to take this lying down, not a chance in hell. He'll probably want to bring the Avengers into it to - but Tony won't let that happen, can't let that happen because the last thing the team needs right now is to be split down the middle.

"Look, Barnes has over a hundred murders to his name. They can spill their bull crap about him being brainwashed or whatever, but he still has to be held accountable." He pauses. "My mom didn't deserve it, Pep. I know my dad wasn't number one person of the year, but if nothing else my mom didn't deserve to go like that."

Pepper is silent for a moment, before placing her hands on his chest.

"Tony," she says gently. "I like to think that I don't ask you for much, so when I ask you this I need you to answer honestly. Have you considered the cost of what you're doing?"

Tony's brow furrows. "Pep, I know the lawyer is expensive but-"

"I'm not talking about the lawyer and you know that," Pepper cuts in. "Tony," her voice turns soft, pleading. "Have you considered the cost?"

Tony averts his gaze, looking again to the window. He works his jaw, trying to understand what she's asking him, and what she wants him to say.

"Steve is taking this as a personal attack against him. You're risking losing a teammate and a friend-"

Tony bites out a laugh. "A friend?! Pepper, he's a teammate at best, alright? If he wants to take it personally, then let him."

Pepper’s face hardens, and she takes a slow breath. "Okay, fine. But if you lose-"

"Lose?!" Tony hisses. "How the hell are we going to lose? Pepper, he killed my parents. He's going to pay for it. No court of law is going to look at a murderer and let him get away with killing hundreds of people!"

"Tony there is circumstantial evidence that suggests that he-"

"Don't say that he wasn't in his right mind. Don't."

They're not yelling now, but they're sure as hell not speaking.

"Tony, he was a prisoner of war for over seventy years! There was no way he could have been in his right mind!"

"No, he was an _assassin_ for over seventy years!"

Pepper takes a step back and looks at him.

"Fine, Tony," she steps away and busies herself with gathering files and folders. "I have a meeting with shareholders, so I won't be able to talk."

"Pep, I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Giving him a sad smile, she cups his cheek. "No you're not, Tony. And that's okay." She places a kiss on his lips and walks towards the elevator. "The car will be here in a minute, be ready," she calls over her shoulder.

He flashes her a small smile and turns back to the window, eyes resting on the horizon.

He's not nervous. He has no reason to be. James Barnes is going to prison for his parents’ murder, he'll make sure of it.

 

* * *

 

In a lifetime of back alley fights and epic battles, funny how Steve has never been more nervous to go to war. He won’t even need to lift his fists for this one - but maybe that's the disconcerting part. Unfamiliar territory, untested battle plans. And he’s pretty sure they aren’t going to let him carry his shield into the courtroom.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The voice across the room sounds as shaky as Steve feels, which is exactly why he has to be strong. At least one of them has to be confident, right?

He glances up from his clipboard, where he’s been double checking their statement, reviewing key points from their lawyer, while Bucky changes into his suit. They changed in front of each other plenty during the war, and even if Buck is self-conscious about the scars on his left shoulder now, he didn’t ask Steve to leave while he dressed. The darker part of Steve’s mind wonders if that’s because Bucky doesn’t know he’s allowed privacy (fucking Hydra) or if he sincerely doesn’t mind Steve being around all the time. Steve forces himself not to look anyways, just in case.

But Bucky’s shrugging into his suit jacket now, buttoning the single button and straightening the material around his waist; so it’s safe to go over. Steve snags the tie from the hanger on the door, setting his clipboard down and making his way across the preparation room to his best friend.

“You know we need to do this, Buck.” Steve keeps his voice gentle without overstepping into coddling, but the tension in Bucky’s shoulders doesn’t ease any as he approaches. He meets Bucky’s eyes in the mirror, stepping up behind him and reaching around to drape the tie across his chest, matching for color. Bucky glances between the tie and Steve, mouth pinched at the corners.

“But against your friends? I don’t want to--”

“Bucky. We’ve been over this. Anybody who would fight against you isn’t my friend.” He rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, sliding a hand down the smooth suit material covering Bucky’s bicep. With a soft sigh, metal fingers reach behind him for Steve’s other hand, pulling it around to rest on Bucky’s sternum, light blue eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“Besides,” Steve presses his nose to the side of Bucky’s neck for a few seconds before straightening back up and stepping around Bucky, crystal eyes on him as he flips Bucky’s collar up to loop the light blue tie for him. “I still think this is just something Tony needs to do for his own sake. Get it out of his system, to honor his dad. I don’t think he actually hates you.”

“He said on national television that I’m a mass murderer who’s being pitied because I have the face of one of America’s sweethearts.”

“He’s got an extravagant use of words,” Steve offers, pulling the wide loop of the tie through the knot, wiggling the triangle upwards to tighten it.

“Well let’s hope the jury is more moved by truth than rhinestones.” The soft, saddened look on Bucky’s face would convince the cruelest of perpetrators, but it just shatters another piece of Steve’s heart. He straightens Bucky’s collar back out and smoothes the front of his jacket down with wide palms, pausing at his waist to curl a hand against the material.

“Don’t worry, Buck. They’d be fools not to see you.”

The honest murmur tugs something in his chest and they’re standing so close, Bucky’s looking at him with those worried eyes and Steve needs him to know he’s here, always at Bucky’s side, and really, what was a little affection between friends?

He tightens the hand on Bucky’s waist and dips his head forward, eyes slipping shut as he presses his lips to Bucky’s cheek. The skin’s so soft and warm under his mouth and Steve takes too long to pull away, his nose on Bucky’s cheekbone as his free hand curls around his neck, eyes still closed as he allows them just a moment, a moment of proximity and affection with his slow, careful breaths ghosting over the place he’s just kissed.

Then he tips his head forward for one more quick press of his puckered mouth and draws back, hand clapping Bucky’s cheek the same way he had after rescuing him from Zola’s table in Azzano - only now it was a preamble instead of a rescue mission. They still have a battle to go fight.

A word battle. Goodness knows Steve’s words have only ever gotten him into more fights. Good thing he isn’t the lawyer.

“You ready?” he asks softly, uncurling his hand from Bucky’s waist and moving it to his shoulder, guiding his nervous best friend towards the door.

“As I’ll ever be,” Bucky grimaces, right hand fingers squeezing Steve’s arm a little tightly. Steve has to bite back the urge to grin, quickly snagging his clipboard before he opens the door up and gestures an arm for Buck to go through first.

He hesitates at the doorway, a hand running through his long silky hair, careful not to mess up the soft-shaped style they’d given it to make him look human and approachable instead of the terrifying machine Steve fought on the helicarrier.

Before he could open his mouth to tell Buck to hurry it up already, Bucky suddenly spins around, fingers closing on Steve’s wrist as he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. He's spinning on his heel and stepping into the hallway before Steve even registers, needing a second to blink before he situated himself, quickly closes the door behind them. And shoves Bucky’s shoulder from behind before falling into step beside him, their dress shoes marching twin clicks across the marble floors.

Bucky shoots him a sideways glance and Steve crosses his eyes at him, then a smile finally curls up on that pretty mouth and Steve can’t help but mirror the expression, one more comforting pat to the small of Bucky’s back and then they’re pushing through the courtroom doors.

 

* * *

 

Tony's footsteps echo faintly through the courthouse, a ticking countdown tapped into the marble floor by thousand-dollar shoes, but the comforting sound is drowned out by the clammer of paparazzi and reporters outside.

"Mr. Stark," a young man jogs up beside him. "Mr. Stark, pleasure to meet you. Do you-"

Tony glances at the man - the boy, and stops. He's young, very young, his shirt is wrinkled, his tie has a coffee stain on it and his hair looks like it's never been combed.

"I'm sorry," Tony says, somewhat taken aback because he is not paying Daniel Trundle and Kile Tucker a ridiculous amount for him to provide Tony with children fresh out of law school. "But I'm pretty sure kids aren't allowed at this trial-"

A thick, heavy voice cuts him off. "No need to worry, Tony," Kile, his newly appointed lawyer on behalf of Trundle and Tucker law firm says. (Kile being Tucker himself). "Brendan's just here to fetch files and get coffee."

Tony looks at the man - Brendan - once again, but keeps walking.

"Dammit Kile, I'm paying you well enough. You assured me you were giving me your best guys," Tony hisses lowly. This is not a fight he can lose, there is way too much at stake here.

"And I am," Kile reassures him. "Brendan graduated first in his class from Harvard. He is the best."

"Look, I'm going to level with you here," Tony says as they make their way up the wooden stairs. "I cannot lose this case. I have shareholders and investors ready to drop out at any second if this goes south- there's too much publicity surrounding this whole thing. Not only that, but I can't have a murderous assassin walking around the streets at night, I don't care how mundane and nice Rogers wants to make him out to be."

Kile flashes him a grin. "That's why you hired us, Mr. Stark. We’ll make sure you'll win." At Tony's uneasy look, Kile continues. "Most likely, Barnes is going to plead guilty but ask to get out on technicalities of the case at hand or claim insanity at the time of the crime. Either way, we won't have much of a battle convincing the jury."

They've reached the top of the stairs at this point and a long stretch of hallway greets them.

“He’s got that whole… ‘I’m a sad prisoner of war’ look and he’s been America’s favorite sidekick for the past seventy years, you really think the jury’s gonna want to convict that?”

Kile sighs. "While unfortunately that's true, right now that's also the only thing they have working in their favour. Once we go into detail about the crimes he's committed, they'll undoubtedly overlook any previous conceptions."

As they near the turn for Court One, Tony can faintly make out the sounds of other voices speaking quietly.

"Look, right now I need you to take my advice," Kile says in a hushed voice. "Steve's vulnerable, so if you're going to speak to him, try to be nice. He's Captain America. The more personal he gets, the more the jury falls in love with him. We need to keep him as Captain America and not Steve Rogers. Okay?"

Tony, childishly, rolls his eyes, but lets out a sound of reluctant agreement. They turn the corner and-

Well, if it isn't Captain America, the world’s favourite assassin-lover.

“Stark,” Steve greets cooly, crossing his genetically-perfect arms over his chest. “It’s not too late to back down and keep some ounce of respect left to your name. Are you seriously going to try to convict the one soldier who’s given the most for this country because of this vendetta you have against me?”

"Soilder?" Tony seethes. "No. No way. He was a soldier for two years. Then he became a fucking _mass murderer_. There's a difference. He has given nothing for this country. _Nothing_.”

“He gave his fucking _life_ for this country. What the hell have you given?”

"I had to give up my parents thanks to him," Tony bites. "Not all of us kill ourselves for our country, but I've done some damn good things for it."

“You don’t know a single thing about war, Tony.” Steve narrowed his eyes, leaning closer and puffing his chest to tower over Stark’s smug face. “At least your father was respectable enough to fight, to stand in the danger of foreign countries to offer his genius to a world where it could _help_ , while you just hold everything to your chest and fight whatever damn battle you feel like. Bucky didn’t have a choice. He never had a choice. He was _brainwashed_ , for God’s sake!"

Tony, despite himself, barks out a laugh. "My father didn't have an ounce of respect. He followed the money and whatever would paint him in the best light and that was that. I am twice the man my father ever was, and you know why? Because I choose the battles I believe in. My father couldn't say the same. And deep down I don't think you can either."

“Really? You think I don’t fight for what I _believe_ in? C’mon, Stark, I know you can do better than that. After all, I’m sure Howard told you all kinds of bedtime stories about what incredible battles I used to fight while you were whining your little rich kid mouth at home.”

Tony snorts. "You want the flag at half mast while you’re standing here? Get over yourself, Rogers. You're not half what you make yourself out to be.”

“Remind me, Tony, which one of us started life during the Great Depression, watched his mother die slowly before his eyes, and suffered from a dozen chronic illnesses for the first twenty-five years of his life? I don’t have any illusions about who I am, it’s you who has to wear a mask.”

"And look at you now!" Tony says. "God’s gift to man. You got repaid for your troubles. Me? I got a shitty legacy and two murdered parents."

“You have a shitty legacy because you created weapons of mass destruction,” Steve points out sarcastically.

"So you'll forgive my father for it but not me, huh? What, because I'm not all buddy-buddy with you? Want me to make you a nice new shield and we can call it water under the bridge?"

“And you wonder why we’re not friends.” Steve shakes his head and gives Tony the most condescending look he can manage.

Tony's about to reply just as the large wooden doors behind them open and the Bailiff's voice echoes from the doorway.

"The trail of the murder of Howard and Maria Stark by the accused James Buchanan Barnes will begin shortly. Defence to the right, prosecution to the left. Members of the public please be seated in the seats to your left, members of the jury to your right."

People start filing into the courtroom, and Tony has no choice but to move with them. He's still fuming after his words with Steve, but hey, what else was he expecting?

"What the hell did I tell you to do?" Kile asks exasperatedly as he leads Tony over to their seats.

He waves his hand. "It's fine. It won't affect anything."

Kile slams his files down on the table. "You better hope not."

The next few minutes are a flurry of flipping through papers, cameramen and journalists getting ready, an underlying general unease throughout the court. When the bailiff calls out "All rise" and the judge walks in with subsequent silence falling throughout the room, it's almost a relief.

The judge bangs his gavel once and clears his gravelly throat.

A man steps to the front of the court, in front of the judge.

"Will all parties involved in the case of James Barnes please stand?" Chairs drag across the floor as Tony, Steve, and their respective lawyers stand up. There is silence and then-

Quiet commotion.

Tony turns around to see James Barnes - the Winter Soldier - being escorted by armed officers to the stand. He's dressed in a suit, with his silky hair swooped away from his eyes, head lowered. On the way he lifts his gaze, and under the dark eyelashes Tony can see him lock eyes across the distance between them.

"Don't look at me," Tony whispers vehemently.

Barnes is lead to the stand, which is placed to the right of the court, and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and straightening himself.

"Are you James Buchanan Barnes?" The man asks, his voice cool and clear.

Barnes' eyes flash open. "Yes," he answers, his voice heavy and somber.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you are charged with offences against the state contrary to law. The particulars of the offence are on the day of December 18th, 1978 with the accused committing the homicide of Howard and Maria Stark. How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?"

There is a heartbeat.

And another.

A beat of silence-

"Not guilty."

James Barnes's voice cuts through the court like a knife, sending the journalists into a frenzy. Ice spreads through Tony, and he sits, unable to move, while beside him Kile gapes.

The banging of the judge’s gavel echos throughout the room. "Order!" He shouts.

"Um- excuse me, your honour," Kile stands, still looking shocked. "Sorry, uh, could I just ask for the indictment to be put again?"

"I take it from your reaction, Mr. Tucker, that the prosecution has not been informed?"

"Very much not, your honour."

"Your plead, Mr. Barnes," the judge says, already sounding tired.

Barnes clears his throat. "Not guilty."

 

* * *

 

Kile paces up and down the floor, flipping briefly through his file as he does so.

"Mr. Barnes, can you tell me where you were on the night of the 18th of December, 1978?" He asks, snapping the file shut.

“On the night of December 18th, 1978 I was in New York. On business.” Bucky tucks his hair behind his ear, looking mildly professional for once in his life.

"Buisness?" Kile asks, eyebrow quirked. "What kind of business? Say, the kind that involves the murder of two innocent people?"

“Objection, your honor!” A man on the defense side stands, looking crisp but not quite stereotypical-lawyer, round with a sweet face and long hair pinned behind his ears, his law partner listening with a cocked head beside him. “On grounds of a leading question with unnecessary slander to the witness. Motion to strike from court.”

The lines in the judge’s withered forehead become more prominent as it creases. "Motion granted. Mr. Tucker, please refrain from phrasing leading questions. The court may continue."

"Of course, your Honor," Kile says. "Mr. Barnes, for a man who claims to be suffering from amnesia and cognitive recalibration, how can you be certain that you were in New York the night of Howard and Maria Stark's murder?"

“I’m certain because I have _partial_ amnesia, and the night of December 18th is a night I do have full recall of. If you ask my psychologist, he’ll be able to confirm that statement for you.” Bucky shifts in the witness stand and blinks calmly at the interrogating lawyer.

“Do you believe there is a particular reason why this...job is one that you remember more significantly than others?” Kile asks, his mouth turning up in a half-sneer on the word job.

“Well, as I’m sure a certified psychologist can explain to you, previous priming to the memory in addition to a mood-congruent trigger caused the memory to be more accessible than others might’ve been.”

“Would you care to explain this to the court?” The expression on Kile’s face is unmistakably smug but Bucky just sighs, leaning forward on the bench to address the jury directly.

“Priming is when a memory is more likely to stick due to previous associations in relation to an event. For example, I knew Howard Stark before 1978, when we fought together in World War Two. Because his face was already familiar, the second memory accompanied with him would retain more solidly in my mind, regardless of amnesia.”

Tucker’s face shifts into an annoyed expression, clearly not expecting Bucky to have enough knowledge and composure to calmly handle a loaded psychological question with technical terms. As soon as he is done speaking, Barnes leans back in his chair again and looks to Tucker with a patient expression.

Tony may or may not be fuming.

"So, you're admitting to the court that you did murder Howard and Maria Stark?"

“No. I didn’t murder Howard and Maria Stark.” Bucky pauses, looking over the courtroom. Every single soul hushed into perfect silence, vibrating in anticipation for the completion of his statement. Bucky stares Kile Tucker directly in the eyes, tone serious and unwavering as he dropped his counter-argument on the table. “HYDRA did.”

The courtroom erupts into a cacophony of shouts and the judge bangs his gavel a few times, forcing everyone into silence again and waving a hand at Tucker to continue.

"Your hands are the ones who committed the act, Mr. Barnes. That means, by law, you are the one who murder Howard and Maria."

“Mr. Tucker, when a man pulls the trigger of a gun, discharging the weapon into an innocent human being, who do you put on trial? The firearm? I was nothing more than a weapon. A gun with a single function. HYDRA pulled the trigger, and they are the ones responsible for the murder of the Starks. Since when does the court of law put the _murder weapon_ on trial?”

"I understand what you're saying, Mr. Barnes, but thanks to yourself and agents of SHIELD, all remaining Hydra agents have been killed. Someone has to take the fall."

“The responsibility for the destruction of the United States Intelligence Apparatus shouldn’t be placed on a single man who was never once part of it. Who, in fact, had never once been allowed to open his mouth in opinion.”

The rage that Tony had pent up since the beginning of the trial suddenly boils over at Barnes's statement. He can't help it - how dare this man try to wheedle himself out of punishment by playing the 'oh I couldn't help it I didn't know' card?

Tony flies out of his chair and slams his hand on the table. "You know exactly what you did, Barnes!" He roars, temper snapping. "Admit it!"

The bang of the judge's gavel echos throughout the room. "Sit down, Mr. Stark!" Tony can faintly feel Brendan's hand on his shoulder as he locks eyes with Barnes.

As soon as the room settles into something resembling silence, Bucky turns his head to look directly at Tony for the delivery of his next line.

“Tony, I understand this is an emotional case for you.” Barnes waves a sympathetic hand and the blood in Tony’s veins boils. “We’ve all lost people, we’ve all lost soldiers--”

Tony's eyes widen as he takes in Barnes's words.

"Soldiers?" Tony says quietly. It's as if then what Barnes really said hits him and--

"SOLDIERS?!" He exclaims. His temper curls its white-hot fist around his chest, and in a moment of pure, maddening, anger, Tony lunges forward. Brendan's fingers almost miss his jacket, but he manages to just barely grab on to the tailored sleeve.

Around them commotion has broken out, and the only constant thing in the moment of chaos is the banging of the gavel against the wood plaque. "Order! Order in the court!" He demands. "Mr. Stark, compose yourself at once or I will be forced to ban you from this trial."

Tony deflates, and lets Brendan drag him down to his seat, eyes never leaving Barnes's.

"The prosecution's questioning is over. After a ten minute recess, the defence may begin their questioning. Court dismissed." A single bang of the gavel and people begin to filter out, whispers and commotion surrounding the courtroom doors.

The moment that people started for the exits Steve stands, crossing the courtroom at the hiss and annoyed look of the Bailiff. He mouths an apology he doesn't mean and practically skids up to Bucky's side.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs, standing as close as he can while the Bailiff snaps handcuffs back on Bucky's wrists.

"I'm fine, Steve," Bucky sighs, shaking his head affectionately. The Bailiff starts to escort Bucky towards the recess room and Steve tags along, giving the man a serious look when he opens his mouth to protest. With another aggrieved sigh the Bailiff stops trying to push Steve out. There's no way he'd be able to anyways.

"God, Stark is an asshole," Steve mutters, hand on the small of Bucky's back as he leads him through the exit door.

Tony follows the movement with narrowed eyes, and uneven breath- still slightly shaken from his outburst. Which, in his defence, is completely justified, considering the fact that the man who murdered his parents compared them to soldiers. Kile claps his shoulder congenially.

"Mr. Stark, I understand your concern--"

"There's a difference between concern and blatant offense," Tony bites in response.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do for the time being. So let’s just sit tight for the recess, we don’t know what we’re up against until the defense opens their case to the jury anyways.”

Tony absolutely doesn’t growl as he sits back down, but he will admit to glaring into his coffee and thinking a lot of not particularly nice thoughts about certain assassins while ten minutes dragged by in the utter disaster of boredom and anticipation.

When the judge bangs his gavel on the plaque again, it's actually a relief. The rest of the crowd filed back in sometime within the past three minutes and the room falls eerily silent again as the Bailiff’s door opens and Barnes is escorted back into the room, handcuffs already tucked back into the Bailiff’s pocket.

Steve follows them guiltily out of the room, sneaking behind the jury to walk around to his seat without crossing the courtroom openly, then the judge bangs the gavel once more at the whispers that rise up from his appearance, and the lawyer on the defense side stands, crossing the oak floors in his heeled business shoes and stepping before the judge.

Personally, Tony hasn’t even heard of Rogers’ appointed lawyer. Some tiny firm in some ratty part of New York - but one of the two guys is blind for crying out loud, if they’re looking for pity votes it's one hell of a way to go.

“The defense would like to present its opening statement in the case of Sergeant James Barnes vs. Howard and Maria Stark in the court of law. Your honour.” The lawyer ducks his head in respect and it’s all Tony can do not to snort at the show.

The judge waves an arm, freeing open the floor for questioning. “Your statement, Mr. Murdock.”

Murdock nods again and takes a few strides across the floor again, the only sound echoing in the courtroom of hushed, fascinated citizens. When he pauses again, he faces the jury, head tipped casually towards the windows above their head as he voices his first question.

“Sergeant James Barnes. I have some pretty simple questions for you first, a sort of preamble and background to...check your character. First, did you serve in the United States Military?” Murdock has his wrists crossed behind his back, brunette hair in a side swoop and studious, round glasses giving him the least-intimidating and most-honest, annoying lawyer look in the world.

Bucky nods. “I did.”

“And you received the military title of Sergeant, is that correct?”

Bucky ducks his head, running a finger over his metal thumb. “I did. Before I shipped out, I was promoted to that role from basic training.”

“And once you were on the frontlines of the second World War your unit, the 107th, was captured. Is this correct?”

“It is,” Bucky’s eyes flicker closed, and he takes a deep breath.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is a story we have read about in history textbooks from the time we were children. The man you read about in those stories is sitting here before you - except now, he is not a story. He is flesh and blood, the real version of the legend, on a podium before your eyes.” Murdock pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in before he strides to the other end of the jury, head tipped curiously at the audience now. “Any one of us could fill in the rest of this story. The 107th captured and held as prisoners of war at Azzano, Italy.”

Murdock spins on one well-polished heel, turning solidly towards Bucky now, as though he could actually see him. “That is, until your childhood friend Steven Rogers rescued your team from the Hydra facility. It is stated on military record--” he pulls out one of the folders in his arms, stepping up to the judge’s podium to slide over the evidence before turning back to Bucky and finishing his statement, “--that after your rescue from torture camp, you were offered an honorable discharge on grounds of psychological damage and trauma. Is this correct, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky takes another breath, and seems to almost shake himself. “Yeah-- Yes. It is”

“Now, would you relay to the jury why you chose to deny this honorable discharge and instead throw yourself back into the fight alongside one of the most prestigious, dangerous squads of the United States Army?”

“Uh,” Bucky’s voice tremors slightly, before he clears his throat. “Well, y’know, Steve was there. I couldn’t- I could not go home and sip iced tea with my sister while he went out and risked his life for our country. Who was going to have his six? Dumb idiot always threw himself into battle without thinking twice.”

“But beyond personal relations, you would say you felt you had an...obligation to stay and fight, to protect your country?”

“Objection!” Kile shouts, standing from his seat and glaring down Murdock. “Grounds for removal, the witness is being lead into an answer.”

“Mr. Murdock, please rephrase your question. Mr. Barnes, only details necessary to the case. And please refrain from crass language in the courtroom. Continue.” The judge waves his hand again and a slightly peeved looking Murdock turns back to Bucky, clearing his throat and taking a step forward.

“After your return to the front lines, you fought two years of service for the United States military. What was your designated role during this time?”

“I was a sniper in the Howling Commandos unit.”

“And as a sniper, you formed a very specific skillset, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“A skillset that might, perhaps, be almost...sought after, by certain parties?”

Bucky rolls his lips in and pops them back out nervously. “You could say that, yes.”

“So when you fell from a train on enemy territory and were taken captive by Hydra unit forces, would you say it was entirely shocking that they chose to keep you as a prisoner of war instead of doing the, say,” Murdock shrugs, swinging a hand out over the room. “...simple thing and kill you?”

“I would say that was certainly a major factor,” Bucky admits. “Zola could never have enough guinea pigs.”

“You were tortured and tested by Doctor Arnim Zola previous to the train, were you not? And it was this factor that had enabled you to survive the train fall. So, by having your body and mind physically altered against your will, you were given an enhanced ability to survive lethal situations. Would you say that this continued through your submersion in the Winter Soldier program?”

Bucky drops his head, and stares at the ground for a second, before lifting it up, eyes closed. “When the 107th was captured, yeah, I was tested on. I was given a version of the super soldier serum that Zola had tried to recreate,” He licks his chapped lips. “Yeah, I’d say that. They made sure that I could stand pretty much anything. Pain training,” He says, and his voice breaks over the last statement.

Matt Murdock pauses at Bucky’s statement, his expression softening into a deep, heart-wrenching pity. Two members of the jury have hands clasped over their mouths in shock, another is dabbing at their eyes with a handkerchief. Murdock gives them all the moment to grieve, looking a little haunted himself.

“So this - I’ll use your words - this.... _pain training_ , this was physical torture to your body, and psychological torture to your mind?”

“Uh, well, I suppose the psychological torture was aftermath, but, yeah.”

Murdock turns to the jury at this, addressing them as though Bucky were not even there. “Many victims of psychological torture are unable to recognize they were victims until many, many years of therapy.” He turns back to Barnes, a patient, sympathetic look on his face. “Were you involved in any sensory deprivation activities?”

Bucky’s forehead creases. “Well, um, they’d lock me in a room for days-- I think I was naked, I don’t remember-- and it was dark. There’d be no light for a long time. And no noise, it was quiet.” He bites his lip. “They wouldn’t touch me unless they were prepping for surgery.”

A shudder runs through the room and Murdock pauses for a moment, seeming to steel himself through the information.

“Sergeant Barnes, when you were first rediscovered by your childhood friend Captain Steven Rogers, he called you by name and you didn’t recognize it. Or, apparently, yourself. Were there ever times throughout your time as the Winter Soldier that you were called something other than your name?”

Bucky’s bottom lip trembles as he lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah-- I was the asset. Cобака, most of the time.”

“I’m assuming this is Russian. And ‘Cobaka’ means…”

Bucky purses his lips and swallows. “Dog.” He lets out in a quiet, broken voice.

There is a collective gasp from the audience and a few soft sobs in the back. The judge lifts his gavel, waiting for the need to strike, but sets it back down as the room stifles the heart-broken sounds.

Murdock shakes his head, looking at (well, turning his head towards) the ground and clutching the top of his cane like this whole case is the most ill fit, disgusting thing he’s ever had to do.

“Sergeant Barnes.” He lifts his head again, facing Bucky with an expression that’s almost...nervous. Scared-looking. “Do you...do you know what the psychological term ‘learned helplessness’ is? Or how it affects its victims?”

Bucky shakes his and his mouth turns down into a confused grimace. “No.”

Murdock nods, his face set in a clear _I was afraid of that_. Then he swivels to the jury again, keeping his words slow and his walk slower.

“Learned helplessness isn’t something that can be simply fixed through therapy. It’s a lifelong battle that very few humans ever struggle with; although there are many traumatized animals in shelters that face this problem. The responses, though, are devastating, even more so with complex minds like that of a soldier.”

He pauses, looking between the audience, judge, and jury, his back to Bucky as though he is simply a subject to be studied, making sure that everyone is looking at him before he opens his mouth again.

“I hate to subject the courtroom to such horrors, but today we seek the truth, we seek justice. So we must face that truth in all forms it comes. I mean no offense or harm to anyone in this room, but I feel it is necessary to place a blanket warning now: anyone with children or who does not wish to witness graphic scenes should now shield their eyes.”

The entire courtroom is looking between each other with mixed confusion and fear, Murdock’s serious speech reverberating against the open space as his feet click echoes across the wood flooring with each step back towards Bucky. He stops roughly ten feet from the witness podium and Bucky is eyeing him distrustfully while the jurors practically hangs on the edges of their seats.

Murdock regards Bucky for a moment before spinning back to face the jurors, the perfect model of innocence as he opens his mouth to speak again--

And suddenly turns, lifting his hand in the air as though to strike at the witness podium.

Bucky shrinks instantly and jolts backwards, expression frozen in pure terror, and in turn slams into the back of the stand, falling down, his cuffed hands held up at his chest, like a child clutching a pillow after a nightmare. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s pressed into the wooden columns of the stand, as if trying to meld himself into the stand.

The courtroom explodes.

The judge is banging on his gavel but Steve doesn’t even notice, he just vaults over the wooden quarter-wall separating the audience from the lawyer’s floor, sprinting past Murdock and nearly taking out the side of the witness stand as he swings around it and practically falls through the opening, already gathering Bucky into his arms.

Murdock keeps his expression grim and terribly sorry, like he isn’t even cheering on the inside for the way the jury are either all roaring, shocked silent, or crying.

The judge bangs his gavel a few more times and Steve strokes his hand over Bucky’s hair, whispering something in his ear that seems to calm him down enough to blink his eyes open. His expression is glassy and his hands are shaking, which seems to disturb the court even further.

“Mr. Murdock, I’ll have you know that was a very risky, unnecessary strain to put on this courtroom,” the judge starts, glaring at Bucky’s lawyer a bit before sighing and banging his gavel once more at a few broken sobs in the back of the room. “Is James Barnes even fit for further questioning?

“I think Sergeant Barnes has done his duty answering questions today, your honour. I have a few more things to mention to the jury, but with your permission I would like to remove Sergeant Barnes from the witness stand to regain his composure.” Murdock gestures at Bucky and Steve, who are still huddled on the ground beside the wooden chair. The judge nods, waving his hand at them.

The court watches in perfect silence as Steve whispers something to Bucky again, one arm solid around the trembling chest as he pulls them both to their feet. Bucky is leaning on him, head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve runs a comforting (but shaking) hand down Bucky’s back as he eases him out of the stand.

Bucky leans on Steve the entire walk back to the defense table, his eyes never lifting from staring at their shoes. When they finally reach Bucky’s chair Steve pulls it out for him, lowering him carefully and crouching beside him, leaning over to whisper again. A soft smile curls on Bucky’s face now, then he tightens his hand on Steve’s shoulder and lets go entirely.

Steve reluctantly backs away, eyes never leaving Bucky as he makes sure he’s alright on his own, then he hurries back to his seat and leans to make sure his best friend is in his sight at all times. Bucky turns sideways in his chair so he can see Steve when he glances up.

Murdock observes the entire scene with his odd stillness and tilted head, leaving the audience and jury no choice but to do the same. As soon as they both seem settled again, he clears his throat and turns back to address the court, the hard edge in his voice replaced with a sorrowful, sympathetic one now.

“Today, we had the opportunity to witness history. Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th, one of America’s most prominent soldiers in World War Two, on trial as a murderer. And today we got to see him for who he is behind the history textbooks.” Murdock gestures towards Bucky, and the eyes automatically follow Bucky’s gaze to Steve as well. “Human. Friend. Prisoner of war. This is a man who was fought and basically died for his country, enduring seventy years of brutal torture at the hands of some of the most gruesome people to walk this earth. He was beaten, destroyed, conditioned, brainwashed into a weapon - a man without a name, a creature with no purpose but to do Hydra’s every bidding. A situation so many of us would never have survived...but not only did this war veteran survive, he broke out of that conditioning to save one of America’s greatest heroes. So to force this man onto that stand, to display one of America’s own - a brave soldier, our longest serving prisoner of war - in front of his own flag accusing him of murder...that leaves us as the monsters, not him. Sergeant James Barnes is a hero, one of the finest to ever serve our country, and the idea that today, he can be accused of blatant murder, that today the prosecution means to put this man away to spend the rest of his life in a cell, the way he has for the past seventy? It’s preposterous. So keep in mind, as the trial commences, who the man before you is - not a machine, not a murderer. One of America’s finest. Our country’s hero.”

The courtroom falls into silence and the final word hero echoes, resonating across the wooden floors and bouncing off the arching columns. Steve has tears in his eyes and Bucky’s managed to straighten up enough to hold his head up, but his eyes are closed as though the moment is too painful even for him.

Mr. Murdock turns to the judge, waving a hand. “The defense closes its opening statement.”

“Court will adjourn tomorrow at 9 am. Court dismissed.” There is a single bang of the gavel and the room explodes, a thousand opinions shouting over each other at once as reporters try to elbow their way into the room, seeking testimony from Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, or Tony Stark, whoever the hell they can get their hands on.

Tony waves them all off, turning his head slowly to look at his lawyer.

“You said we could win this,” Tony mutters, voice low and deadly serious. Kile looks slightly chagrined, but appears to shake it off fairly quickly, plastering on a confident face.

"Look," Kile says evenly as he gets up and stretches, before shutting his briefcase closed."I know things aren't looking great right now, but trust me. I have guys on a really promising lead right now - this is good stuff. The type of stuff that gets people convicted for murder. Hey-- you want to get some coffee?"

"Evidence?" Tony prods hopefully as they walk out of the courtroom.

"Better. Testimonies against his plea of insanity. We can prove he was of sound mind. That's what's going to convince the jury - the idea that a murderer is trying to play coy and innocent. Nobody likes being played, especially not by an assassin they used to worship as kids."

"What?" Tony admonishes. "What- what kind of testimonies?"

"Doctors. Psychologists. People the jury can trust. If we get the public to hate him for fooling them with his image as Captain America's sidekick we're using his best playing card against him."

"Just-" Tony sighs, and rubs his eyes. "Just get that guy into jail, okay?" He asks as they walk down the stairs.

Kile is either a great actor or, true to his word, has solid testimonies, because when he gives Tony a grin, he can feel some previously lost confidence bloom back inside his chest.

The central lobby is busy and filled with people milling about. Behind the security barriers journalists scribble fiercely in their notebooks and on their phones and news reporters speak avidly to cameras- From that to the conversations taking place between the people downstairs, it's all blended to create a cacophony of noise.

Tony looks around, cursing his height and trying to see over the crowd for a familiar flash of orange hair. Then there’s a soft, familiar hand at his shoulder and he spins, breathing out in relief as Pepper gives him a gentle smile.

“How are you holding up?” She brushes imaginary dust off his suit shoulder, looking at him with genuine concern.

Tony shrugs, and lets out a sigh. “Well, it sure as isn’t as straightforward as I thought it would be- Steve got Barnes a hell of a lawyer, so it’s making the job harder than it should be.”

“What was with that fiasco where the courtroom broke out in a frenzy? Good for us, I hope?” She links her arm through his, starting to lead him slowly through the crowd.

Tony barks out a laugh. “I wish.” He looks at Pepper and see’s her expectant expression, gently prodding him to continue. “I kind of lost it- Barnes called my parents soldiers. Soldiers, Pep. Like they went about life waiting to be shot- like it was justified.”

“God, Tony, I’m so sorry. This has just become the biggest mess. A month ago, I never could’ve imagined Steve taking us to court. Steve Rogers. As much as you two fight...this? This is just. It’s crossing a line. You took him in, offered him a home, formed a team. And he repays you by going to court against you and insulting your family?”

“Look, Pep, I know my dad wasn’t the best guy going, but my mom-- she was kind. And gentle. Everything my dad wasn’t. She wasn’t a soldier.”

“No. No, she wasn’t. I may not agree in breaking up the team like this...but if Steve’s insisting on being this way, we really don’t have any other choice. I think you’re doing the right thing, Tony. It’s justice, killers shouldn’t be allowed to walk free. Much less worshiped as heroes.”

Tony allows himself a small smile. “Well, Pep, with you on my side, how can we lose?”

She smiles and leans over to kiss his cheek, just as they break through the edge of the crowd on the courtroom steps. There are suddenly a hundred cameras and flashing lights, microphones shoved in their faces and policemen trying to bar back the crowd.

“Mr. Stark, what is your response to the accusations that you’re looking to get Bucky Barnes’s name removed from history books so there’s room for yours?”

“Mr. Stark, tell us what motivated you to drive a wedge between yourself and your most beloved teammate?”

“Mr. Stark, were you aware that Bucky Barnes had reactions to violent altercations like those shown in the trial? Do you regret your decision, watching one of your childhood heroes cower on the witness stand?”

Tony stops, and glares at the man, so much so the reporter shrinks slightly backwards. “The man in that courtroom was never one of my childhood heroes. I grew up to stories of a war hero, a prankster from Brooklyn. The man in that courtroom? He’s the cold-blooded killer who murdered the people who used to tell me those stories. So no, I don’t regret my decision to show America the justice that needs to be served.” He pauses, waving a hand to quiet the crowd before he raises his voice, practically shouting from the steps. “I don’t regret my decision to say what everyone else has been so afraid to. This is America, and we don’t let murderers walk free. If the Howling Commando Sergeant from the 1940s were standing here beside me today, I’ll bet you anything - and I have a lot to bet - that he would agree with me. So no, I don’t regret my decision. And if you will open your eyes long enough to see past his charade of innocence display, you won’t regret yours either. Convict him, in the name of the country Sergeant Barnes once fought for. Convict him, in the honor of that man’s memory.”

The reporters burst out with other questions, getting louder and louder as Tony and Pepper ease their way through the crowd, but as they make their way down the steps the journalists stop asking them questions and turn their back, facing the doors of the courthouse again, and Tony hears a large chorus of ‘Captain America!’ and ‘Mr. Rogers!’ followed by loud and incomprehensible questions.

Tony wills himself not to look back.

 

* * *

 

“Matt!”

Shouting was hardly necessary, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t hear the distinctive sound of Foggy pushing through the crowd anyways. But he still turned at his name, pausing amongst the thrift of reporters and gossips.

Foggy practically barreled into the side of him, big familiar hands taking Matt’s arm and half-shoving people out of the way as he guided them both through the crowd. By the time the sounds of shuffling faded into the distance behind them, they were both at the top of the courtroom steps, and it was a good thing Karen was busy back at the office (the Nelson and Murdock firm was a little overwhelmed with the paperwork that came with a case as internationally huge as this one) because Foggy had basically no filter the moment he thought they were out of earshot.

“Man, what the hell was that? Bringing violence to the courtroom? I’m pretty sure that’s gonna be a very memorable lawyer moment they teach about in _Stanford_ now. As exactly what _not_ to do when you’re dealing with a national hero _prisoner of war_.”

“But it was effective, wasn’t it?” Matt tapped his cane along the sidewalk while Foggy huffed and brooded a little beside him.

“What happened to the whole ‘emotions have no place in the courtroom, only facts’ speech?” At least he was attentive. And he wasn’t yelling, just seemed to be a little confused, which wasn’t all that irregular for Foggy. Especially since he’d barely had a few months to process that his best friend was a masked vigilante for years before they got called upon for the case of a lifetime.

Truly, this may be the biggest case to hit the courtrooms since Brown vs. the Board of Education. And the idea that _they_ were the lawyers that _Captain America_ had chosen? It was...insane. Unbelievable.

Hell, he could still remember back when Foggy used to make jokes like “I could say I’m Captain America, but it doesn’t put wings on my head.”

And now that legend showed up at _their_ door? Conveniently, Foggy was actually the one who’d opened the door. To stare Steve Rogers right in the face. Actually, due to height difference, it was more like staring at his chest, and then having to look up, and Matt could hear his heart rate suddenly explode from all the way in his office upstairs.

To be fair, it was _Captain America_. Who the hell wouldn’t freak?

Yet another moment that Matt wished he could see the look on Foggy face as the door to their office creaked open, the soft murmur of Foggy leading their guest inside.

“Matt?” Foggy called out, and his heart rate settled down a little as Matt stepped around the corner into view. He cocked his head, listening to the new heartbeat in the room, the man standing silently beside Foggy, smelling of taxi leather, something metallic, and the faint scent of oranges.

“Matt, this is our guest Captain Rogers,” Foggy started, voice a little high and incredulous on the name and Matt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “And this is my law partner, Matthew Murdock.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Rogers.” Matt held out his hand in offering, which wasn’t something he did very often but felt terribly appropriate for a man they’d looked up to their entire lives.

Who was currently standing in their little, underdeveloped office. He was missing some very important details here.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” He drew back from the solid, unafraid grip, resting both hands atop his cane and cocked his head in his curiosity, trying to pick up every possible reading of this man he could. It wasn’t every day a super soldier wandered into their office.

“I need a lawyer,” Rogers started, and his voice was much kinder and more rational than Matt would’ve guessed based on the size and stature of the man.

“Right, Captain America needs a lawyer,” Foggy snorted, shaking his head in amusement and looking Matt’s way, then his breath caught and the huffed laughter suddenly trailed off, falling quiet and serious, likely at the look on Steve Rogers’ face.

He did need a lawyer.

“It’s actually not for me, it’s for my best friend.” Rogers shifted his weight, sweating slightly on the back of his neck, clearly nervous. But it was the sudden spike in his heart at the words best friend that had Matt much more interesting. “See, uh. One of my other friends is suing my friend for murdering his parents, only my friend wasn’t actually themselves when it happened and there’s always the chance that my one friend just hates my other friend because there’s been a couple of feuds between my friend and I but we were just starting to get closer when my other friend showed up--”

The heart rate change was terribly fascinating, the nervous rambling even more so. He couldn’t help but be curious knowing that there was a woman who made Steve Rogers flustered to talk about. It’d never been suggested he’d had any love interests in the media. If it was murder, maybe the Black Widow? But their relationship always seemed very platonic, best-friend to him.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who exactly are these friends?” Matt interrupted, because otherwise it looked like Rogers may ramble the entire story before giving out names.

“Well, Tony is the one suing us - oh. um. Tony Stark?”

“Iron Man?” Foggy’s jaw dropped incredulously, although really by power of deduction, how many friends did Captain America have that weren’t other superheros?

“Yeah. I mean, we’re both Avengers and we’ve had our arguments before but we’re a team and I can’t believe he’d --” Steve paused, catching his own pumping blood increase, forcing himself to level back out. That was interesting too - clearly, he had a lot of control over himself, but there was a tendency to get a spike upset. Maybe retaining from his days in Brooklyn as a kid, fighting his way through the world to prove something as a sick kid. Matt had always admired that. “--anyways,” Steve trailed, settling back down.

“And your friend that’s getting sued?” Matt prompted, tacking on a and that your heart beats wildly for? in his head.

“Uh. That one’s a little more complicated. Have you ever heard of Bucky Barnes? He’s...he’s kinda alive.”

Foggy was just staring in shock.

Matt wasn't much better. The person who Steve Roger’s heart fluttered for is the dead - not dead? - best friend from his childhood and war years. Well. Maybe the serum in his veins made the different speeds of heart rate different than usual - what he’d assumed to be the crush-increase heart rate could perhaps be friend-induced-worry? Steve’s body was clearly very different, there was always a chance. Or, well, there was always the possibility that the line was simply muddy for him there. He knew first hand that philia and eros could occasionally be quite entwined and sometimes mistaken for the other. Bisexual Captain America...the world never ceased to amaze him.

“Why don’t we all sit down,” Matt suggested, gesturing to their client room. Foggy followed silently - for once - and Steve was the quietest of all, right until Matt gave him the go ahead to explain the whole story.

And what a story it was.

It explained a lot about recent events, but. More curiously, shed a kind of light on Steve Rogers’ he’d never had the chance to know.

And, of course, once Steve’d finished his story and sat back tiredly in his chair, there was one other question Matt had to ask.

“Why us? There are thousands of law firms with more money, more fame and higher success rates.” It wasn’t as much that this felt sketchy, more that it was almost too good to be true. Defend their childhood heroes in the court of law?

Steve shrugged, fingers sliding over the table in some sort of pattern. Was he drawing something? “Buck and I grew up in Brooklyn. You guys are a tiny firm in Hell’s Kitchen. I have a feeling you’d understand the world a little better than most. And I know you’ve been involved with some pretty...dangerous cases before.”

“You can say that again,” Foggy muttered under his breath and Matt’s expression tugged involuntarily into an amused smile.

“--so I figured it couldn’t hurt to come ask.”

He was incredibly polite, kind. Serious, and troubled in a way that hinted more at his time as a soldier than anything else. But there was a lightness about him, like maybe he saw the world differently than they did. That kind of glowing honesty that just radiated from his words - Matt could understand why so many had followed him into battle before. When Steve Rogers spoke, you knew he was fighting the good fight.

And what else were Nelson & Murdock for?

“We’ll take it,” Matt declared with the remnants of a smile, then Foggy snapped up and soft fingers landed on his arm.

“Wait wait wait, hold on. I’d like just a moment with my partner here please.” Foggy directed towards Steve and there must have been some sort of gesture of agreeance, because then Foggy was dragging him off to the side. Steve Rogers had super hearing and would likely listen from any part of this office, but Matt wasn’t going to mention that to Foggy as he leaned in close and hissed under his breath.

“Are you out of your mind? If living legend Tony Stark is taking the newly-living legend Sergeant Bucky Barnes to trial, this is going to be the biggest case of the century.”

“It’d be a lot of publicity, yes.”

Foggy made a noise to explain the annoyance his facial expression surely had, then his arms were waving around and displacing air to further the point. At least he had the gall to drop his voice a hell of a lot lower, lean closer, so there was actually a chance the Captain would miss this part if he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“And wouldn’t that be bad for the whole, y’know. Masked vigilante thing? People might be able to recognize Daredevil once your face is recognizably famous. Not to mention there’s no way in hell we can go up against whatever hotshot lawyer Tony Stark is hiring.”

They were all rational concerns, truly, but for once couldn’t they forget rational? This wasn’t backalley drug deals or shady politicians, this was Captain America vs. Iron Man in a court of law and yes, it’d be written in textbooks, and Captain America wanted their names - Nelson & Murdock - to be written there too. That alone should be enough to make Foggy drop everything and take it - not to mention that he could remember what Steve Rogers looked like from his childhood fascination, and there was no way that much handsome wasn’t going to convince Foggy. But he was being cautious on Matt’s behalf, for the sake of Daredevil and stress and really, Matt could never be anything but grateful for that.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to remind Foggy of who exactly was sitting in their office right now.

“Are you implying that you’d like to turn down the opportunity to defend your childhood heros in a court of law and bring justice to superheros? Don’t worry about the fame. And don’t worry about Stark. We go in there with the facts and the country will be on our side, no matter how expensive Iron Man’s lawyers are.”

Foggy’d given him this look that Matt really wished he could actually see one day, then they’d shaken Steve Rogers’ hand and there they were now, after a crazy day in the courtroom that, like Foggy said, was definitely going in the textbooks.

Actually, that look was probably the exact look he was giving Matt now too.

“What happened to the whole ‘emotions have no place in the courtroom?’” Foggy was saying. “I specifically remember you telling me that we’d go in there and win this with the facts.”

“Those were the facts, Foggy. They just had to be presented in a way that was powerful enough for people to understand them.” He hadn’t discussed the plan with Barnes ahead of time, as that would likely ruin the effect. He’d ran it by Rogers though - he’d never do anything to purposely cause Bucky long-term harm and Steve’d (reluctantly at first, but eventually in murmured sorrow understood) agreed to let them portray the damage that way.

“It’s more complicated than just numbers and bare minimum, now,” Matt continues, sweeping his cane over a fallen bag and lifting his foot to step over it, only Foggy pulls him automatically to the side before he can. There are some things he never got over once he found out how much Matt could do on his own, but Matt would never stop him. It’s nice to know someone pays enough attention for the both of them, even though Matt’s more than capable on his own. “When it comes to people like us--”

“Oh, so it _is_ personal then.” The tone in Foggy’s voice implies he’d been thinking that all along, so Matt wouldn’t bother bullshitting his way through because yes, he has some things in common with Steve Rogers and he knows that.

“If I were to make a court case about Daredevil and just gave facts, no reasoning or perspective, how do you think the public would rule my sins? This isn’t simply murder. This is about justice and prisoners of war and men who overcome their demons to save people - this isn’t straightforward enough for nothing but facts. This whole case is based on emotion because it’s _about_ emotions. About why Barnes killed, not whether or not he did. Justice, Foggy. And that means perspective.”

Foggy sighs, but it comes with a shrug and nudge to the shoulder, so it can’t be all that bad. “Just remember not to get your head too far into this, Murdock. The facts are what’s gonna win us this case, cause that’s where all the good guy justice lies.”

“I know, Foggy. I know.”

 

* * *

 

Remarkably, the courtroom is even more packed the next morning of the trial. Tony shoulders past a few reporters, pushing down the center aisle to take his place at the front table on the prosecution side. Kile waves him towards the stand and Tony raises his eyebrows but stands again, buttoning his suit jacket and making his way to the witness chair, making a show of unbuttoning it again and swooping down. Pepper gives him an encouraging nod from the audience and Tony barely refrains from kicking his feet up on the witness stand, instead looking vaguely bored as the courtroom settled down.

The door on the left opens and the judge sweeps into the room, which means standing again, then the gavel’s banging and he finally gets to settle in his seat, barely half-listening as the judge gave his morning schpeel; instead scouting out the crowd for familiar faces, decidedly content with his representation amongst them. He finally does listen as he’s sworn in, then finally Kile is standing in front of him with a file folder and that conquering look on his face.

“Mr. Stark. Today you are testifying against James Barnes in the murder trial of your parents. This is correct?”

Tony nods, his face relaxed, but nerves tingling in the back of his neck. “Yeah- Yes,” He amends. “I am.”

“Tell me a little about your parents. What were they like as people in the community?” Kile paces a few feet, a neutral congenial look on his face as he gazes over the jury.

Tony lets out a breath. “I guess you could say Ma was… the good force of the two of them? She made Dad better. Inspired him, I suppose. Dad followed his inventions. Whatever it would help, wherever it would sell the most is where he would go. But Ma acted as his moral compass, I guess. They weren’t much involved in the outer community, but I know that they lent to any of their friends who needed it, and didn’t expect anything back.”

“So, to summarize, you would say they focused a lot of their time helping others?”

“Well, Ma took care of friends back here who needed help- financial or whatever. But Dad… He wasn’t drafted in the war, and most men would leave it at that, y’know? But he gave his time and his inventions to the war effort for free. He spent all his times overseas and risked his life just to help his country without being asked. So yes, I’d absolutely say that in the least.”

Kile nods, rolling his lips in pensively as he glances between Tony, the jury, then finally turns to casually glance over the audience, nonchalant as he taps his fingers on the edge of his folder, offering the next question like it’s a simple sidenote. “And would you also say they deserved to be murdered?”

The courtroom erupts in gasps and the judge bangs his gavel in annoyance. “Settle down. And Mr. Tucker, I will remind you to refrain from using loaded terms for dramatic effect. Mr. Stark, please answer the question so we can move forward with the trial.”

Tony clenches his jaw. “I would not say they deserved to be murdered. Not at all. They were my _parents_. No child deserves to grow up without their parents.”

“And what impact do you think their loss had on your development, if any? I understand you were a young adult by the time they were killed, but do you believe there was still an effect on the choices you made that wouldn’t have been present if they were still among us today?”

Tony rolls his lips. “Yeah, I- Yes. I would. I lost the people who could steer me in the right direction, who could teach me morals and help shoulder my problems. I lost all of that. I lost a friend in my mother and a mentor in my father. And if they were still here? Maybe Stark industries would have not only changed America’s stance on green energy, but the worlds. Maybe carbon emissions would be non-existent. Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted my twenties partying. Maybe a lot of things, you know?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark, parents are considerably influential in all of our lives. We’re all quite sorry for your loss. Thank you for that statement, I’m sure the jury is appreciative of the information. Now, I have one other line of questioning…” Kile opens his folder, shuffling around a few papers before finding a document of Tony’s initial statement. “You said in your initial statement that your father, Howard Stark, was close friends with James Barnes during the war?”

“Yeah, he was,” Tony answers.

“What can you tell us about this? For example, do you believe that James Barnes knew your father well enough to recognize him that night in December?”

Tony nods vigorously. “How could he not? They were close. Saw each other a lot- Dad said he was interested in his inventions. The connection those soldiers in the war had? That’s not something you could forget or just...toss aside.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Kile gives him a winning but amazingly sympathetic smile before turning to the judge with a slight nod. “The prosecution has no further questions for this witness.”

Tony watches as Tucker takes his seat again, all eyes in the courtroom on the defense lawyer as Matt Murdock stands slowly, scooting back his chair and using his cane to carefully scout the edge of the table before stepping into the middle of the wooden floor, glancing at the jury with his round colored glasses before he props his cane against the side of the wood and turns to the witness stand.

“Mr. Stark. In your most recent response to the prosecution you stated that a brother-in-arms bond is one that could not be forgotten.” Murdock pauses and Tony taps his foot, waiting impatiently. Small-town crack lawyers. Where the hell did Steve even find this guy? Then Murdock opens his mouth again, waiting a moment before cocking his head curiously and finishing his question. “Even if someone has been brainwashed and cannot remember their own name?”

Tony sighs, straightening in his chair, but before he can respond Murdock takes a step forward, a disapproving look on his face. Well, from what you could see with the glasses.

“Do you mean to say that a simple acquaintance during the war would be more...mentally relevant and permanent than the years of torture and brainwashing that erased every memory from Sergeant Barnes’s mind?”

“Well, Mr. Murdock, that was never _proven_. Give me goddamn scientific evidence to prove to me that he had absolutely no clue about what was going on and then I’ll rethink what I said.”

The judge shoots a glare from the podium. “Mr. Stark, please refrain from using inappropriate language on the stand. The defense may continue.”

“So let us go back to the subject of your parents. You said they were upstanding people in society, which I know is a highly debated topic in our society.” The courtroom murmurs a quiet laugh and Murdock smiles, a private small kind of smile like he was proud he’d managed to get a reaction without disrupting the peace. It was disgusting, really, how well this blind thing was playing the audience. Tony would have to have a word with Kile about breaking his leg or something.

“But I think the more relevant question,” Murdock continues, straightening back into a more serious expression. “Is whether or not they were upstanding parents? I would never insinuate they were deserving of murder - but the jury deserves to have all of the facts regarding your relationship with them to fully understand your motivations for even bringing this case to trial.”

Murdock innocently extends an arm to indicate the people around them and Tony can physically feel the blood boiling in his veins.

Tony lets out a breath through his nose, and allows himself a small smirk. “Well, you know, we didn’t go to baseball games all the time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The crowd laughs and the judge glares until they quiet down, making Tony shift in his seat with a triumphant grin on his face. Murdock raises his eyebrows, waiting patiently until the last of the giggles have long since faded and the smirk on Tony’s face is subsiding.

Fine. If the guy was going to stand there all day, Tony could give him another answer.

“Nothing about Howard Stark was simple, cut and dry. That’s just not how we Starks are.” He expands his arms, waving vaguely in the direction of the reporters and the entire courtroom. How many times had he been in a goddamned courtroom in his life?

Murdock’s still silently waiting, so Tony sighs and continues. “He was one of the prime inventors, innovators, leaders, in his time. He was a busy man, he had more concerns than running around after a kid. Concerns that involved this country’s safety. But he wasn’t not involved in my growing up.”

“So he definitely had a part in your upbringing, then? What would you say was the most significant role he had in your childhood life?” Murdock leans patiently on his sight cane, which he must’ve picked up again while the crowd was laughing.

Tony shifts in his seat. “Um,” He drawls out. “He, well, you know, he moulded me into the man I am today. Without him teaching from the time I was little,” Tony trails off and screws up his mouth. “I wouldn’t be half the man I am today.” It’s not so much a lie as it is the truth glorified.

“Mr. Stark, you owe your success to your father and his guidance? It wasn’t of your own doing? To say...spite him, for saying you were a disappointment? As was stated during one of his interviews after the summer of…” Murdock sets a paper on the judge's’ podium and Tony just stares at him. “...your junior year in high school, when he had to bail you out of jail for the sixth time?”

Tony clenches his jaw. “That’s different.”

“We’re just trying to uncover the facts here, Mr. Stark. Did your father or did he not publicly and privately view you as a disappointment to his legacy? Or, even more importantly, as someone who never measured up to his greatest invention? Which, as he has stated multiple times on public record, is none other than Captain Rogers, the best friend of the man you indict here today?”

The blunt honesty in Matt Murdock’s voice is simple and not the slightest bit malicious, which is the worst part. It was almost like he was...pitying Tony, in a way.

Tony closes his eyes, and presses his hands together. The rage previously within him ebbs into a dull, burning sadness that aches inside his chest.

When he opens his eyes again and looks at Murdock, his throat is tight and his voice is small.

He can’t even look at him when he answers in a tired voice, eyes unable to leave the clasped, white-knuckled hands in his lap. “He wasn’t the best father… But I wasn’t the best son, so…”

“I understand that parental discussion is a sensitive topic for anyone Mr. Stark. I wouldn’t mention it at all if I didn’t want to make it perfectly clear to the jury why we are here today.” Murdock clears his throat, taking a step towards the jury before facing them entirely, addressing the question as though it were to those nine people instead of him. “Are you attacking James Barnes under the personal vendetta carried from the guilt of never living up to your father’s expectations?”

Tony clenches his fist. “I am putting James Barnes on trial,” He spits, “Because he is a cold blooded _murderer_ who killed my parents, Mr. Murdock. In case you’ve forgotten.”

That same tiny smile curves one side of the lawyer’s mouth, but he gives a respectful nod in Tony’s direction anyways. “I haven’t forgotten, Mr. Stark. I’m not the one who was brainwashed for more than seventy years.” Before Tony could make an indignant remark, Murdock turns to the judge and gives him a similar nod. “The defense has completed questioning of this witness, your honor.”

Tony stares after the man and wonders how the hell they were supposed to win this trial after all.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The prosecution obviously has other witnesses. Steve knows this, he knows a little about law, and Matt explained the basic outline of what would happen, but he figured it’d be some fancy psychologist he’d never heard of, whatever guy with the nicest degree Stark’s pocketbook could buy.

He was not, at all, ever, anticipating Tony to call up their lead psychological witness and see Doctor Bruce Banner walking up to the stand.

Steve stares at the man as he passes but Bruce doesn’t spare him a glance, eyes straight ahead on the judge as he crosses the floor.

There’s no way. Bruce wouldn’t testify against him. Them. This is Bruce Banner - he’s one of the good guys. Right? Yeah, he’s friends with Tony, but this isn’t about friendship this is about justice and there is no way Banner would--

“Doctor Banner, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Bruce raises his right hand and Steve watches dumbfoundedly as the courtroom lights catch on his glasses, making them flash before his face comes into perfect clarity again. And there isn’t the slightest trace of a joke on his serious expression.

“I do.”

Steve crumples.

“Doctor Banner, you are testifying today as a head scientist on the particular subject of brainwashing and mental manipulation.”

“I am,” Bruce says, proud of his voice remaining steady. He doesn’t do well with crowds- and Steve’s eyes burn on his back.

“The first thing I’d like to ask you, as one professional to another, do you believe that the mind can be manipulated enough to change an entire person’s being? Is there scientific proof of this occurrence?” Kile steps a few casual paces towards the jury, setting the tone that they want to settle back, this was going to be an intense one.

Bruce absentmindedly picks at his cuticles, but his gaze remains focused on Kile. “It’s a highly unlikely probability. To completely rewire someone’s brain so that they forget their name, their morals… And for so long, it’s- it’s unheard of. James Barnes had been hardwired to act and think a certain way for twenty seven years, and to re-mould him within a year, two, three, it would be, I’m positive, impossible.”

“Now, to spare the defense from having to waste time asking this question,” Tucker shot a fairly nasty glance towards Murdock, who only curved his mouth up a little in the corner like he knew he was being glared at somehow, “--you mentioned that this would be nearly impossible inside of, say. Three years. But the defense has been throwing around some other numbers, big scary ones like _seven decades_ , so can you tell me how you arrived to the logical conclusion that during the past seventy years, the Winter Soldier was only tortured for three?”

 

Bruce takes a long breath. “Well, if you look at the timeline of the Winter Soldier’s acts,” He tries to ignore the tightness of his throat when he calls him ‘the Winter Soldier’, “They’re sporadic. Spanning seventy years- but that’s only one to two crimes per year. With chunks of gaps in between, five and ten year portions that were entirely inactive. But if you look at that man over there,” His eyes dart to Barnes, sitting at the defence’s table, looking withdrawn, yet defeated. “He doesn’t look a day over twenty eight. So, when he wasn’t needed, Hydra put him in a thing called cryostasis-- essentially they freezed him, which preserved his condition. In turn, he could have only suffered around three years of torture.”

“And in this scientific SHIELD report, it states that the estimated physical age, considering everything from hair-growth rate to cell-damage and teeth-aging, is approximated at roughly 29 or 30. So you agree with this, then, based on the logic and the nature of cryostasis.” Tucker spins his heel again, swinging on the jury with that ever-present clipboard in his hands. “Ladies and gentleman of the jury, there is factual, scientific proof that James Barnes was only tortured for three years and spent the other sixty-seven frozen and inanimate - this is the reality, and much less dramatic and heart-breaking than the big ‘seventy’ everyone is throwing around. Now, with this scientific proof of how much time Barnes was actually subjected to torture, I’d like to keep that number in mind as we continue throughout the trial.”

There is a quiet murmur through the crowd and Bruce chances a glance at Barnes, because his senses hate him and he has to know. Bucky is white as a ghost, fingers clenched in his lap as slight tremors roll down his spine.

Behind him, sitting in the front row of the audience and close enough to have his hand curled protectively over Bucky’s shoulder, is Steve. Except nothing about Steve looks scared or mortified.

Steve Rogers is pissed.

“Doctor Banner,” the prosecution attorney interrupts, swinging into his line of sight so Bruce is forced to look up, meeting the squirrely man’s eyes. “-the prosecution would like to bring light to another key point of the brainwashing defense. What can you tell the jury about the four stages of traumatic response?”

“The two most common traumatic responses - those I’m sure most know, is “fight or flight”. This means that some people will handle traumatic expressions by fighting back automatically, while others will run. However, the other two are “freeze and faun”. While less well-known, it’s just as common. Freeze is what it sounds like - the body can’t move, it goes on lockdown. And there’s faun.” Bruce takes a deep breath that reaches his lungs. “This is really a very brilliant survival technique - it’s when a person does exactly what they think their captors want them to do, they faun over their every need until they have their captors convinced that they’re eating from the palm of their hand. It means that they can stay in control mentally, however they obviously have do everything they physically can to please their captors.”

The courtroom is dead silent and Bruce doesn’t dare look at Barnes now. Not after everything he just said.

Even Tucker looks forlorn, expression solemn as he stands stock still, wrists crossed behind his back, and nods his head slowly.

“So.” He takes a breath, eyes respectfully forward as he glances between Bruce and the floor. “This would mean, in James Barnes’ case, then...that there is a possibility he was never brainwashed at all?”

Bruce purses his lips and nods. “A strong one, at that. It would mean that he was never brainwashed or wiped - that he accumulated himself to make it look like he was, in the hope that they wouldn’t torture him. He would’ve been constantly aware of his situation, knowing he couldn’t escape it but he does what he has to- he kills and murders. And he’d’ve known it was wrong, but would have pretended it wasn’t because it’s his body’s automatic response to a traumatic situation, and, at the end of the day, it was probably the only way to survive.” Bruce pauses. “This means that all the decisions were his own, now matter the circumstances of why he made did, he still made them.”

There is another soft pause, then all the information seems to sink and Kile starts back to life, like a machine reset. “Understand, ladies and gentleman of the jury, that no one is intending to undermine the horror this man has gone through,” he sweeps a wide arm, probably including Bucky in that gesture behind him, only he’s still standing between Bruce and the two super soldiers so he can’t really tell.

“It’s only intended to bring reality to this story - a murderer is using the excuse of brainwashing to excuse his crimes. There is a terrible backstory in James Barnes’s life, one that is shocking to us all. But what mass murderer doesn’t have one? It’s almost to be...clinically expected, that there is a psychological break before a man begins to kill masses of people. Did this excuse John Gacy? Ted Bundy? Those men faced the death sentence for their crimes. Because they _killed_ and they _slaughtered_ , and if the Winter Soldier did the exact same thing as these men - with no psychological proof of being brainwashed - does that not make him just as guilty as they are?”

Kile spins towards the judge, his face just on the wrong side of content, and dips his head with a respectful, “The prosecution opens questioning of this witness to the defense.”

Not a soul in the room moves as Tucker crosses the wood floor, heels clicking, and Matt Murdock stands. His gait is slow, aware, nothing like the powerful march of Tucker as he approaches the stand. Bruce eyes him warily, because he knows nothing about this lawyer, but he can’t imagine the kind of prevalence a blind lawyer has in the courtroom.

“Doctor Banner,” Mr. Murdock greets, dipping his head. His voice is as gentle as Tucker’s was crude. Bruce shifts his weight, glancing between his hands and the blind man. Although it’s not like Murdock can tell if Bruce is looking at him anyways. He clears his throat, leaning forward a little onto his sight cane as he asks his first question. “When did you begin your study of psychology?”

“I studied it in college as part of my coursework, but everything I’ve learned from books throughout the years.”

“So, you aren’t an official psychologist, is this correct?”

“I don’t have a degree, no--” Bruce starts, but Murdock cuts him off before he can continue on that thought.

“Yes, great. Thank you Doctor Banner. Your degree is in what, then?”

Bruce fiddles with his hands. “Nuclear physics.”

“Really? So...the prosecution decided to call a renowned nuclear physicist as their mental psychologist to make the biggest accusation of this case? Seems a little odd, doesn’t it?” Murdock pauses, letting the words sink in before he crosses his hands behind his back and strides up to the witness stand. “Doctor Banner, you were called on this case to be a psychologist when it’s irrelevant to your degree. This implies that there may be a personal connection, an emotional opinion, that is making you testify today. Would you please state to the jury your relationship with the prosecutor?”

“Tony and I are close friends. We’re science partners, I suppose you could say.” Bruce pauses, looking conflicted before he says, “But I don’t see how that’s relevant to the case. I’ve studied psychology, I may as well have some sort of degree in it so I hardly think it’s contradictory to testify for that. I’d imagine you’re a lot more contradictory in your position. With all due respect, sir, you’re a blind lawyer.”

The courtroom gasps again and Matt’s eyebrows arch up over his glasses. He knew this case would be emotional, it’s too bright in the limelight not to be. But to imagine that Bruce Banner is calling him out on being blind in front of millions of people, that isn’t something he ever pictured happening. Here he is, muddling with the real _legendary_ super heros, when he’s just a guy in a suit defending a dirty corner of New York.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? Banner has no idea what Matt does on the side, no one but Foggy did, and these men - larger than life, even with Banner’s glasses, short stature, and wild curly hair he glows like an icon on the stand. And Matt’s going to have the chance to put that icon in its place.

As soon as the courtroom quiets back down, Matt gives Banner a small smile, tapping his cane once on the wooden floor.

“Yes, Doctor Banner, I am a blind lawyer. But I don’t see this as contradictory,” he ponders, tipping his head to the side. “Wouldn’t it, in fact, be the most honest kind of lawyer? Being blind means I can’t see the subjects and victims involved. Without my sight, I’m entirely subjective to appearances. I can’t judge a man for his tattoos, or a woman for her flowing hair. I don’t see a person’s face, I see the facts, laid out clear and honest. This doesn’t hinder my abilities as a lawyer, it makes me entirely subjective to justice and the truth. Could you say your position in this case does the same Doctor Banner?”

Bruce’s nostrils flare. “I’m doing this because I believe it to be the truth as well.”

“So justifying on this case has nothing to do with your relationship with Tony Stark? You mean to tell me that this man--” An accusing finger pointed towards the prosecution’s table with surprising accuracy, “--chose you as his head psychologist because you believe his side to be _telling the truth_. Like this is on _faith_ for you. Wouldn’t that make your involvement a direct exploitation of this courtroom? We are here to solve the justice of a murder, not to waste the country’s tax dollars on one of Tony Stark’s personal vendettas.

“Stark is using his friends - the personal connection of his teammates - to get at a personal chip on his shoulder, one he holds for someone else in this courtroom. From what we’ve seen of Stark’s testimony and Doctor Banner’s, it’s blatantly obvious that Stark is using this case an advantage to get at Steve Rogers, a man we all know he’s had confliction with.” Murdock swung out his arm, a little less accurate this time as he gestured towards Steve. “Ladies and gentleman of the jury, take in the look on Steve Rogers’ face and tell me that using Dr. Banner wasn’t a personal powerplay. I may not be able to see Rogers, but I can imagine how upset he is right now.”

Actually, he might not be able to see him, but the creak of the wooden barrier in Steve’s hands as it threatens to crush has been unmistakable for this entire debate.

“Bruce Banner isn’t qualified as a psychologist to testify in this case, but Stark chose him - over any top psychologist in the world that we know he could’ve afforded - just to infuriate the defense. Is this what we are going to stand for, Tony Stark whipping a national courtroom around on his finger because he’s peeved at one of his team members? If this is a matter so frivolous as that, I suggest that these men take their problems elsewhere, maybe discuss their feelings over a cup or two of coffee. A civil war between the Avengers is not what this courtroom is for.”

Bruce and Tony kind of just stare at Matt Murdock in shock as he waves the hand with the cane once and gestures towards the witness stand.

“The defense has no further questions for this witness, your honor.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, what kind of beer does Captain America like?” Foggy asked, popping his lips in amusement and scanning over the selection in the fridge while Matt feels his way around Steve’s kitchen behind him.

“He can’t get drunk!” Bucky shouts from the living room and Steve pushes him goodnaturedly on the shoulder, making a pretty smile widen on Buck’s mouth. Foggy makes some nondescript sound in the kitchen that Matt laughs at, although it’s too far away for Bucky to really pay attention.

Or care, when Steve’s sitting just a few inches away on the apartment couch.

Their hands brush each other’s, and before Steve can move his away, Bucky grabs onto Steve’s little finger, hooking around it with his index. He has to admit the small blush that creeps onto Steve’s cheek is completely endearing, and the shy smile that comes upon his face makes the previous events of the day all the more bearable.

“How’re you holding up?” He murmurs, gently rubbing Steve’s knuckles.

Steve lets out a small laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Bucky shrugs with a small grin. “I don’t really know Stark-- Or Banner, for that matter. But they’re your teammates, Stevie.” He gives his hand a squeeze. “I get that this might be hard for you.”

Steve shakes his head. “Bruce was… A surprise. I had thought of all the Avengers he would be the one to act on reason-- Or not get involved at all. But seeing him stand up and say those thi-”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky smiles sadly. He gives Steve a mock punch on the jaw, which puts a grin on his face. “Look, you knew Tony wasn’t going to play clean. He’s going to have way more tricks like that up his sleeve-- Him and that damn lawyer of his. And when he does, I need you to curb that goddamn temper of yours. It ain’t going to reflect too well on me if my best guy starts throwing punches at the prosecution, is it?”

Steve looks down at their intertwined hands, and lets out a breath. “Yeah, I know, Buck. And I’m sorry, I just-- I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that Tony’s doing this, you know? And dragging Bruce into it…” He lets out a ragged breath and tips his head back so he’s looking at the ceiling. “Tony wants it to be as public as possible. And now he’s getting the Avengers involved and that’s a recipe for disaster.” He pauses, and worries his lower lip. “He’s going to make them choose sides like children in a playground.”

“Well then lucky your team isn’t made up of children, right? Children pick sides because their friend supports one team or they like the jersey of another one.” Bucky turns his head to look at Steve’s profile. “They’re going to have to choose Steve. But at least they’ll choose what they believe in, not what they’re being asked to choose. And that’s all you can ask of them.”

Steve whips his head to look at him. “How can you do this? How can you be so nonchalant about what’s happening?”

Bucky gives him a small smirk. “Because it’s life, Stevie. And I had a great one with you the first time around. And if people think I don’t deserve another one with you, then so be it.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m lucky to even be getting a trial and you know it. So if they’ve given me a chance at a trial, maybe they can give me the benefit of the doubt."

Steve sighs. They've been over this time and time again. "It’s not about doubt, Buck. It’s about making people see the truth. You can't be held responsible for those things that Hydra did to you. And let anybody try to tell me otherwise--"

Bucky snorts. "Alright pal, no need for a speech, I get it." His mouth twists up to a grim smirk. "But other people... Not so much. Bruce talks a big game, who knows how many people in that jury believe him.”

"But that's all it is, Bucky," Steve persists. "Talk. You heard Matt-- He hasn't even got a degree in psychology. I'll bet money he was fed that speech."

“Doesn’t matter, he still said it. But hey...so long as you don’t believe him, I’m good. You don’t, right?”

Steve smiles at him and suddenly lets go of Bucky’s hand in favor of throwing it over his shoulder, tugging Bucky against his side the way they used to as kids, in reverse.

“Course not, Buck. You believe I’m secretly fighting for Russia instead?” Bucky laughs and shoves at Steve’s chest, but he doesn’t break away from the touch and really doesn’t want to. They’re sitting quite close like this, face just inches from his, so gloriously pretty, the cutest sprinkling of lightly-dusted freckles from up close-- and then the sound of footsteps.

Bucky looks up, eyes breaking away from Steve’s as Foggy and Matt finally enter the room, an armful and a half of drinks and snacks stacked on Foggy’s chest, and quite evil glare directed at Matt - who''s carrying nothing. Which, Bucky figures is pretty fair with the whole blind thing, but Foggy apparently disagrees.

As soon as he starts piling things out of his arms and onto the coffee table, Bucky shoots them both a grateful smile.

“Lawyers and room service, who’d’ve guessed. Now all we need is for one of you two to don a costume and come fight crime with us! Who’s in?” Bucky laughs at his one joke and Foggy cracks up too - laughing loud and suddenly with much more enthusiasm than the joke requires, but Matt kind of stands there with an awkward look on his face.

Right, the whole blind thing.

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” Bucky starts - because he knew a thing or two about getting treated differently with his arm and that was the exact opposite of what he intended - but Matt waves him off quickly.

“It’s fine.” The look expands into a genuine smile and Bucky doesn’t feel quite so bad. “I just wasn’t expecting it, is all. Not everyday your childhood heroes suggest you take up arms with them.”

“Quick save,” Foggy mutters under his breath and Steve and Bucky glance at each other. What was that about?

“Actually, uhm. Steve - is it alright if I call you Steve?” Matt asks and Steve nods, unwrapping his arm from around Bucky’s shoulders and gesturing with a hand.

“Please. And Matt’s fine?”

“Great. Would you mind helping with something? Foggy’s too short to be much of a help--”

“Hey!!” Foggy interjects, head shooting up in offense, but Matt just smiles wider and points over his shoulder.

“--so can I use your height for a bit?”

“No problem,” Steve agrees easily, getting up off the couch and giving Bucky a soft pat on his shoulder before following after Matt.

“He just wants to hang out with his childhood hero,” Foggy grumbles and Bucky snorts in laughter, reaching for a bag of chips.

 

“Alright, Matt, what can I help you with?” Steve’s hands are shoved in his pockets, which Matt can only tell because of the distinct fabric sliding sound, but it’s a curious image. Steve Rogers standing in his kitchen with his shoulders arched forward and his hands in his pockets. “Is the tall thing in here?”

“Yes, there’s a few wine glasses on the top shelf. Although, I suspect Foggy could get them with a stool. Really, I’d like a minute of your time. Privately, if I may.” Matt sets his cane down on the counter and leans against it, facing Steve.

Steve's blood begins to run a little cold, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, though confusion is occupying his head mostly. "Um, yeah, of course."

The heart rate increase was drastic and obvious, but it was simple nervousness at this point. If Matt’s readings for the serum-induced supersoldier were accurate.

“What...I don’t mean to intrude, and I normally wouldn’t ask this after only knowing each other for a few weeks, but it might come up in the case and. I’d rather be prepared than anything, so I feel I have an obligation...so. Um.” He tips his head, wishing Steve could have the comfort of knowing he wouldn’t be judged beforehand, but he didn’t want to sike him out any further. “What are your feelings for Bucky?”

Steve goes rigid as blood drains from his face. "I don't-- I don't- um. What. What do you mean?" He asks, rubbing his forehead nervously.

“I mean,” Matt pauses, and the sharp increase in Steve’s heartbeat is unmistakable. “Do you have romantic feelings for Sergeant Barnes? I won’t tell him, of course, but if it’s brought up tomorrow - which it may be - we both need to be prepared for that.” He cocks his head again, letting a small smile curve on his face now. “And I have to admit I’m a little curious if my suspicions were right.”

“You had suspicions?” Steve’s voice croaks and he scratches the back of his neck, trying to calm the tightness in his chest. "Uh..."

The room pauses, air stilling and teetering at an edge. And then, of all the things to happen in the world, Steve Rogers bursts out laughing. Head shaking, brightening sounds of laughter wrack his body and Matt can taste the salt as tears come to his eyes.

"Something funny I missed?" Matt asks, but truth be told he's smiling too. Steve's heart rate has somewhat decreased and at least he knows he hasn't crossed a line.

"No, no, it's just--" He's cut off by another fit of laughter. "Of all the people to find out it's a blind lawyer." He honestly can't remember laughing so hard since he woke up again, he's giggling himself silly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says finally. "Its just um... A bit ironic, I guess. And you can't even see the lovesick glances I look at him with."

“Well, so long as you don't answer like that tomorrow I think we'll be okay, ” Matt smiles.

 

“No, no, no. Sour cream and onion are way better, man.” Foggy shoves the green bag of chips at Bucky, who gives him a funny look but takes one, popping it in his mouth curiously. He makes a face and scrunches up his nose, shoving the bag back.

“Bullshit,” he replies, only it sounds like buhshie with his mouth full of chips. Then he points wildly at the orange bag, indicating Foggy to try one of those instead. He gives Bucky a skeptical glare but picks up the other flavor of chips.

“I dunno man, I don’t normally take recommendations from mass murder assassin's…” Foggy trails off, peering in the bag suspiciously and Bucky barks a laugh.

"Hardy har har," he snorts. "A comedian. Steve-!" He shouts over his shoulder to the kitchen. "You hired me a goddamn clown!"

“Better lookin’ clown than you,” Foggy shoots back and Bucky reaches over to shove him with the metal hand. He goes down way easy and then, for good measure, Bucky figures he may as well pour the sour cream and onion ratchet-ass chips over his head.

That’s when Steve and Matt walk back in.

“Bucky!” Steve scolds, and he instantly throws the bag across the room and puts his hands in the air.

“Wasn’t me!”

"Yeah, you never were the liar of the two of us, remember buddy?" He says as he shoves his shoulder. "Used to get all clammy and start to stammer. Looked like he was shitting a brick."

“Oh shut up, what do you know?”

“I was there.”

"That was one time--"

"Don't lie James Buchanan Barnes, you’re supposed to be on trial tomorrow!"

"Who are you, my mother?"

As they bicker, Foggy leans over to Matt and whispers "This is the best thing ever."

“I think they might be worse than we are,” Matt whispers back and Foggy snorts, leaning his shoulder against his friend’s.

 

* * *

 

 Kile Tucker steps up to the witness stand, entire courtroom hovering with anticipation as he lays down the question the past ten minutes had been crescendoing to.

"Mr. Rogers, what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Barnes?"

They'd prepped for this, he could do this.

Steve takes a deep breath- calm, like Matt said. "I met Bucky on my first day of school when we were six years old. I grew up with him, did everything with him and followed him anywhere he went-- I still do, I guess." A quiet chorus of laughter comes from the jury. "He is the most important person in my life. When I say that I would lay down my life for this man, I mean it. And not out of pity, or because I'm clinging onto the past, but because I look at that man--" he allows his eyes to flicker to Bucky, who gives him a small smile and a reassuring nod. "-- And I see my best friend. Sure he's got a metal arm now and more scars than I can bare to think of, but. He's still my best friend. Still the same guy who checks alleyways just in case I'm getting into a fight again, or always talks to my left ear because because can't quite shake the fact that I'm not partially deaf anymore." Steve pauses. "He's my best friend. That's... That's all I can really say to describe it."

Tucker may or may not be fuming.

He had specific, detailed, insider info from Stark that they were much closer than two best friends. There’s always a chance that Rogers is lying, but it’s Steve Rogers, what are the odds of that?

Still, he grits his teeth and turns to Steve again.

“So, Captain, you’ve never had romantic or sexual relations with James Barnes?” Flat, obvious. He couldn’t deny it when it was worded like that. If it had happened. Stark had said he’d seen them snuggled together, even holding hands once, he’d thought. Or maybe Stark was a pompous asshole who gave him fake information. But he could work with that. He was a damn good lawyer, he could work with that.

Steve clears his throat. “Um, no.” Because, really, technically, the occasional accidental or comforting peck to the cheek doesn’t count. They’ve never proclaimed romantic love, never kissed on the mouth for longer than a millisecond and it’d always been in passing it wasn’t like that, it was little kids patching each other up or soldiers about to dive off a cliff.

The look on his face implies that it’s the truth, but Kile is seriously doubting it’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It looked like the questions were going to have to be a bit more specific.

“So, by responding no, you’re implying you’ve never had sexual intercourse with Mr. Barnes?”

“Yes, I am,” Steve answers. God, his collar's burning. Is it hot in here?

“And you’ve never kissed James Barnes either,” Kile prompts, looking terribly unconvinced.

Steve’s throat seizes. “No.” That’s the right answer, isn’t it? Because there’s a _kiss_ and then there’s just a kiss. And Tucker’s asking about a _kiss_.

“Never held hands?” He finally tries, because maybe one of them is asexual or aromantic or something, but there’s no way there’s nothing between them. The way they look at each other alone, especially when the other’s head is turned.

Although, there may be something in that then…

“Uh,” Steve stammers, but he finally sucks in a breath, decides he’s got to get on top of this, show he’s more comfortable than it looks, or he feels. “Yeah, we have.” Then he lets out a nervous huff of a laugh - partly because of the blush that’s creeping up his neck, and partly because his life never misses a way to kick him up the ass.

When Tucker’s eyebrows shoot up and a murmur begins to rise from the jury, Steve opens his mouth again. “I mean, is there anyone in this room who’s made it down the Coney Island Cyclone without squeezing the hell outta your best friend’s hand?”

A wave of gentle laughter comes from the jury, and even the judge, a hard, stern old man with a wizened face lets a small smile appear on his face and gives a small ‘harumph’.

It appears the entire room is irrevocably, annoyingly charmed by Steve Rogers. Kile curses internally and plasters a tight smile on his face, waiting for the laughter to die down. So they were playing up the really close platonic relationship card. Fine. He could work with that.

Especially with how pink both of their cheeks were right now.

“Clearly, you and James Barnes are quite close. Growing up together, holding hands on roller coasters. So it only seems necessary to ask,” he glances over his shoulder at Bucky before pinning Steve with an interested gaze. “--while you may not have ever acted on romantic feelings, have you ever wished to be more than… _just friends_ with Mr. Barnes?”

Matt was right- this guy is good, really fucking good and Steve wants to punch him. Or Tony.

His ma used to say she could always tell if he was lying because he got the devil ears. Here’s hoping he’s improved.

“Well it wouldn’t even matter if I had- he’s still my best friend.”

“Best friends can become romantically involved,” Kile shrugged, taking a step closer and raising his eyebrows with a pinning gaze. “I'm going to ask you this again, Captain, do you want to be romantically or sexually involved with James Barnes?”

Steve lets out a huff- you’d think they put air conditioners in here or something-  
“Uh, um,” He says, becoming increasingly more flustered. “I don’t feel comfortable answering a personal question like that on a stand- Is it really relevant?” He looks down at his hands, wringing them nervously.

“As both a character witness and a motivation for the case, in addition to the simple fact that romantic feelings changes all of the implications that’ve been stated between you and Mr. Barnes, I would say that yes, it is really relevant.” He mocks Steve’s tone at the end, but before the judge can do anything more than narrow his eyes he presses forward again, nodding his head towards the stand. “Mr. Rogers, you do realize that if you--”

Steve’s blood boils. “First of all, it’s Captain, and second of all, I’m pleading the fifth.” He lets the mask come on, hardening his features and cementing his face into a look of disgust.

Like somehow the question was the despicable one, like somehow the courtroom was the one being unfair for prying, and if it weren’t for the precious golden-boy look, Kile could’ve had this bastard nailed. As it is, he glares a little and takes a step back, waving a hand at the bailiff to mark it down.

There’s nothing else he can do now and the courtroom is swinging on an edge off the cliff of Captain America’s Goodness and really, the longer he has Steve on the stand the worse this case was going to get. People were blinded by the sun, so it was time he started digging around in the shadows to find real, substantial dirt to rub all over the pretty shine of these two superheros.

He dismisses Steve from the stand, doesn’t miss the way his hands shake a little as he heads for his seat. Doesn’t miss the way he glances at Barnes just once, fast, like he’s scared what he’ll see on Barnes’s face. Doesn’t miss the way his shoulders slump in relief when all Barnes gives him is an apologetic smile.

These goddamned supersoldiers. What more could he possibly do?

 

* * *

 

“Tony, you have a call!” Pepper shouts from the other room and Tony sinks deeper in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and pouting harder at the stupid wall.

“I don’t want to take it,” He replies loudly, wishing he had stuff to blow up or something. Even just a remote to take a part would be fine. Anything to take his mind off the fact that they were _fucking losing_ \--

“Tony, it’s Kile. He’s found something-- you want to take the call,” Pepper’s heels crossed tile floors and Tony slid a little higher on his chair, one eyebrow raised as she strode around the corner and held out the phone to him. “He says this is what we’ve been waiting for.”

Sighing, Tony reaches out his hand and takes it, but not before shooting Pepper a look that says ‘please god don’t make me do this’, to which she replies with an apologetic smile and kiss to his forehead, and then goes back into the other room.

He lifts the phone up to his ear and rubs his eyes. “Tucker, I don’t know about you but I’ve had a tremendously bad day. So unless you’re going to tell me something that will turn the case on it’s head I suggest you hang up.”

“Since when do you think the Irish mob has been operating in New York, and in particular, Brooklyn?”

“What?” Tony snaps. It’s too late. It’s too goddamn late-

“Answer me. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know- the 1920’s.”

“Bingo,” Kile answers, and before Tony can ask him what the hell he’s doing playing trivial pursuit with him, Kile continues. “And in what period do you think they hit their golden age? I’ll give you a hint- it’s after the 20’s but before the 40’s.”

Tony sits up, his forehead creased. Tony vaguely remember something about Steve having Irish roots-

If Kile was getting at what Tony _thinks_ he is, Tucker may redeem himself. “The 30’s,” He answers.

“And it was his name-o,” He can hear the smirk in Kile’s voice. “Now here’s the winner- which one of our beloved super soldiers was part of the Irish mafia and is credited with a hand in the downfall of the Italian mob during that time?”

Tony could’ve kissed Kile, right there and then. If Kile is saying that Barnes operating in the Irish Mafia, and not only that but was an actual, active member, it would make the jury see what the murderer really is, it would completely change how the jury sees Barnes. It’s their ticket to winning this case and getting that man in prison, and if it isn’t- well. He doesn’t think that will be a problem. Tony leans forward.

“Barnes,” He answers.

Tucker’s voice is cool, but he can sense the excitement. “You got it.”

Tony drums his fingers along the arm of the chair. “How did you find out? What’s the source?”

“I did a little digging- and by that I mean a lot- and found mentions of a Jimmy Barnes in a memoir done by the ringleader of the mob at that time- his right hand man, apparently.” Kile pauses. “He wasn’t just any old member, Tony. He was _high up_ in the pecking order.”

“Who’s our guy?”

“The man who wrote the memoir is dead now, but there’s another guy- Donnachá O'Malley- he's about the same age as Barnes technically is, and joined around the same time."

"And he'll act as a witness?"

"Yeah, he's on his way from the Hamptons as we speak."

Tony shifts in his chair, unable to keep still due to the energy and relief coursing through his veins. "This is-"

"It's monumental. Bucky Barnes? Poor, amnesic soldier-turned-assassin has a bloody past with the Irish Mafia? This is it, this is what’s gonna break our case.”

Tony lets out a breath, and can't help the smile that comes onto his face. "Tucker, you've really outdone yourself this time."

 

* * *

 

“Prosecution may stand to question the witness.”

Kile takes a breath, rolls his shoulders, and begins the walk up to the the witness stand.

Donnachá O’Malley- quite literally the man who’s saving this case. The dirt he would have on Barnes… Kile smiled just thinking about it. Now, the gang Barnes had been part of, it wasn’t some unknown gang that contributed nothing to the Irish-Italian mafia warfare, it was one of the most violent gangs that has ever graced New York’s streets. The Westies.

Responsible for the murders of countless Italian mafiosos and pretty much ran the bootlegging industry during the 40’s. And from what Frank Costello had written in the article that had eventually led Kile to Donnachá, Barnes wasn’t a nobody. He was Eddie McGrath’s right hand man. Eddie McGrath being the leader at that time. It’s times like this that Kile doesn’t regret going to church every Sunday.

“Mr. O’Malley,” He smiles. The man in front of him is tall, thin, and has a noticeable scar on the check of his leathery, wizened face. “How is it that you know of James Buchanan Barnes?”

O’Malley takes a wheezy breath. “Me an’ Jimmy go way back. Went to school together, lived in the same apartment block. Knew ‘im since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“Is that so? Is that the only way you knew him, or were you involved in...extracurriculars together as well? For example, did you spend any time together that wasn’t in school or on the playground?”

He nods his head. “Oh yeah. Sure, it was Jimmy that got me into The Westies an’ all.”

Kile takes a momentary pause, letting a confused murmur settle over the crowd, giving the jury a chance to catch the look on Barnes’ face. And turning around himself, it’s exactly the one he’s looking for.

Bucky’s face is taught and white, his hands melded together as if in prayer.

( _"_ _Oh Jesus, Donnachá, not you. Oh god. Oh Jesus, I’m sorry."_ )

“The Westies, Mr. O’Malley? For those of us less aware of New York in the 1940s, would you mind explaining the term and what it means?”

“The Westies?” He asks incredulously. “What’re they teaching you nowadays? It was the biggest goddamn mob in all of New York! Built from the blood of the Irish- doin’ our fathers an’ our fathers before us proud. Puttin’ the damn Italian mafiosos in their place while we were at it. Couldn’t walk down Hell’s Kitchen without meetin’ a Westie.”

“A mob. So, you and James Barnes were part of an Irish mob together?”

“Not an Irish mob,” He spits. “The Irish mob. But yeah, we were. Jimmy musta joined around… I dunno… ‘35? Got me in ‘36.”

“As part of this mob, what kind of activities were you encouraged to do? Or, I suppose, what were some of the tasks that the members participated in? I assure you, these are all going to be quite relevant to the case and we would appreciate any amount of detail you can provide.”

O’Malley’s face turns pensive. “Well, when ya first joined ya had to go in the ring. Fight one of the older, tougher guys. Prove your worth. Show ‘em you had the devil in ya. Once ya won your first fight--” He smacks his hand on the smooth wood of the bannister, and the grin the graces his face is that of a man who’s been molded by guns and weapon and war. “--You were in. They gave ya a gun, brought you out to whoever needed doin’, and if you made a nice, clean shot and didn’t complain,” He let out a low whistle. “Then you were climbin’ the ranks, bucko. Once that was done, life was smooth sailin’. Help out in the speakeasy or wherever needed it, and at night, well. Hell’s Kitchen came alive with the Westies. Fights, drink. If you were lucky, Ed’d have ya brought along to business. If not, you watched the turf.”

“You speak of fights, Mr. O’Malley,” Kile says. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, what’d’ya think? Ya fought. There was a poole, ya put yourself in, ya fought- bare knuckle. Whoever won got braggin’ rights and maybe a drink, but you got your name in Eddie’s good book, and that was all that mattered.”

“And did Mr.Barnes ever partake in such activities?”

Donnachá barks out a laugh- not tinged with a certain happiness that he spoke with of their previous activities, but rather with a hint of bitterness. “‘Course he did! He was Jimmy Barnes. Couldn’t sit idle if it killed him. He was Ed’s right hand man- had to remind people of that incase they thought he was sittin’ pretty.” His mouth twists into a bitter grimace. “He was there, nearly every night, fought, won, went home. Last night he was there was before he shipped out. Wore his fancy ring an’ everything. Gave me this--” He points to the scar gracing his left cheek. “-- and got the hell outta there. Never saw ‘im again.”

The jury is dead silent. The whole courtroom is.

The thing is, the entire side of the defense relied on Barnes’s innocence at heart - and O’Malley sitting here was perfect proof that Bucky’d been dangerous long before he was captured as the Winter Soldier - the scar on his cheek spoke almost as loud as his words did.

“Clearly, Mr. O’Malley, you know James Barnes quite well. If your scars are any proof, which personally I find to be irrefutable...so, in reference to this case in particular, do you think it’s possible - probable, even, that Barnes made a cognitive decision to kill Howard and Maria Stark?”

Donnachá screws up his face. “Jimmy… He always had blood on his hands, ya know? Whether it was Stevie’s that he was tryna clean up, or some Italian boon, he was always fightin’, always swingin’ another punch. He was a killin’ machine with a heart a’ gold, an’ ya couldn’t fault ’im on that, ‘cos he was a good guy at the end of the day.” O’Malley sighs. "But he was always killin’. Doesn’t matter who tells you do it, or why you’re doin’ it- ya never forget a killin’. Never forget the pull of trigger.”

“A killer with a heart of gold? Doesn’t that seem a bit contradictory, Mr. O’Malley?” Before he can answer, Kile barrels on, cutting off the chance for him to build Bucky up any higher. “And one more thing that you may be able to give us insight to: as a member of the Irish Mob, I’m sure Barnes took a lot of orders. Do you think that - given what you know about his fighting and survival style - Barnes could’ve used the aforementioned ‘faun’ technique to trick Hydra into believing they had him on a leash while he was in control of his mind the entire time?”

“Gold isn’t a strong metal, Mr. Tucker. As soon as it’s melted you can reshape it however you like,” Donnachá replies. “I’m no scientist, Mr. Tucker, I couldn’t say for sure.” He swallows, and wills himself not to look at Jimmy. “But I know that Jimmy never went against the rules. Eddie tell ‘im to do something he did, no questions asked. Might bitch about it later to ya over a pint but…” He clears his throat. “But he did it.”

“So, you believe that James Barnes was clever enough to outsmart his captors into believing they had complete control over him?”

Donnachá takes a heavy, weighted breath. “I- I do.”

“With everything you’ve brought to the courtroom today, it appears that the previous image of James Barnes that the public upheld has been severely distorted from the true version of this man. You have shown us a violent tendency that runs long before his time as an assassin, or even as a soldier. An obedience that can be overruled by clever thinking, participation in something as...harrowing as a mob through voluntary efforts. This man isn’t the innocent, happy-go-lucky soldier at Steve Rogers’ side any longer, he’s a vital asset--”

Bucky flinches at the word.

“--to the underground system of New York, to the horrors that the city still faces today. The courtroom greatly appreciates the light you’ve shed on these propaganda-induced shadows. But before you get off the stand today, Mr. O’Malley, do you have anything else to tell the jury that could be deemed as relevant to this case or James Barnes as a character?”

Donnachá looks conflicted- he can see Jimmy’s pale, white face in the corner of his eye, he can see the way his hands are clasped together, and how he’s shaking his head- Maybe he’s fighting the wrong fight.

( ~~Always was.~~ )

“Jimmy got me outta a bad place, alright? Got me a family, gave me protection and a job- that’s gotta count for somethin’, right? Sure, he gave me a scar, beat me an’ the other lads senseless, but- He was a good guy when he wanted to be. Real nice guy.”

“I’m sure he was quite nice. Rumor is, so was Ted Bundy.” Kile remarks with a smile and half the courtroom snickers in laughs, which is a good enough result for Kile to give a nod at the chagrined-looking O’Malley and face the jury again.

“We’ve heard a testimony today that entirely questions and practically discredits the defense’s previous arguments. I’d like you to keep in mind all Mr. O’Malley has shared with us because this was more than a simple character witness, this is proof against the brainwashed theory that the defense has been shoving down our throats. Proof against the propaganda of innocence they are attempting to make us all believe. Listen to the facts, for it is the facts that’ll bring us the truth today.” A nod towards the judge and Tucker strides across the wood floor back to his seat. “The Prosecution has finished with this witness your honor.”

“The defense calls Sergeant James Barnes to the stand for rebuttal, your honor.” Foggy stands, giving Bucky a trepidatious nod and glancing worriedly at Matt as he stands, waving Foggy’s concern off with an expression he hopes translates as I can get them past this bump.

Although suddenly getting your defense ripped to shreds with an unexpected witness in the middle of a trial is a little more than a bump, but. They could do this. Justice would be served, they could prove that.

Bucky stands up and straightens his back- He can do this. The truth will set you free, right? But Donnachá standing up there… Christ almighty, it was like every blow he’s ever gotten. He deserves it, though. What Bucky did… It’ll haunt to the goddamn grave.

(What people don’t realise is that Bucky Barnes had skeletons in his closet long before the war- and now they’ve learned how to dance.)

They hadn’t planned for this- it was so long ago, how the hell had Tucker even found out?

Walking up to the stand, it feels like there’s a brick on his chest and a chills are running down his back. He swallows through a tight throat as he reaches the stand, all too aware of every eye in the house on him.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” The bailiff asks him.

“I do,” He answers thickly, and with that he makes his way up the steps, and turns to face Matt.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Matt greets, dipping his head respectfully. “We’ve been in this courtroom, debating the scale of justice, for days now, not counting all of the other time spent on this case. But today, the final day for the prosecution, a - may I mention quite… old - contact from your past was brought onto the stand to testify against you as a character and a man. And more specifically, to deter the idea of your innocence by invoking the opposing notion that you have always been unnecessarily violent and manipulative.”

He taps his cane once on the ground before cocking his head in genuine curiosity. “It surprised most of this courtroom - probably most of this country - to hear of your involvement in the Irish mob. So on behalf of all of those curious souls, would you care to elaborate on this part of your past? The jury, I’m sure, would love to hear your personal view of the story. The reasonings behind your involvement, as I imagine that a man such as yourself certainly had some.”

Bucky clears his throat. “Um- when I was about, jeez, eighteen? Becky- my sister- started seeing a guy, Micky Malone. I knew him, we worked at the docks together and we were from the same neighbourhood. Anyway, one day he corners me after work and tells me that he knows Stevie’s sick, but he knows a way to get me some money so I can buy him the medicine he needs.” Bucky shrugs. “I asked him what it was- his lungs were real bad. Micky told me all I needed to do was go to Hell’s Kitchen at ten that night and do a round of fights, there’d be people bettin’, so I’d get the money that way. So I go, and…” He falters, and remembers the smell of sweat and the taste of blood, the stinging in his fist and the rush of adrenaline that rushed through him. “And I win. And then this guy- Eddie McGrath, comes up to me an’ tells me there’s a place at his table for me. And money in his pocket for Steve and- God I couldn’t say _no_. So I went back, and I never stopped.”

“Sergeant Barnes, you stated this original cause for your joining was a lack of monetary support. And if you were eighteen, that would’ve been...the year 1935, correct? The exact middle of the Great Depression. Would you say that your joining of the mob made a difference in supporting Steve Rogers and his health? For example, do you imagine you would’ve been able to get him medicine _without_ your participation in this group?”

Immediately, Bucky shakes his head. “No, no way. Eddie always made sure I had the money for medicine, and he had all the doctors in New York in his phonebook. I don’t know…. I don’t know if Steve’d even be here without it.”

“So it was _necessary_ for the survival of your best friend, then. As much as mobs are frowned upon in society, we’ve read in all the textbooks what the economic depression of the 30s drove civilians to do. And here you are, living proof of the time period, living proof of a man who was willing to risk his own safety in order to heal a friend. There must’ve been a great risk to you, and I’m sure you were quite a risk to others.” Matt smiles and the courtroom laughs quietly, because not a single one of them in that room _hadn’t_ heard stories of the great Bucky Barnes. Now that the jury have lingering smiles on their faces, Matt raises his eyebrows and asks the question that might turn this testimony upside-down. But it was facts, and they needed to be as clear as possible that they weren’t hiding anything.

“Sergeant Barnes, in your time with the Irish mob, did you ever have to take another human life?”

Bucky feels acidic bile burn in the back of his throat as he nods his head, not bothering to hold back the tears that brimmed in his eyes. “I did,” He croaks.

Apart from two shocked gasps from the jury and a furious string of scribbles from journalists, the courtroom was filled with a stony, dead silence.

“And what was your reasoning for why?”

Bucky’s throat seizes. “Eddie had a daughter, Susie. One night she comes running into the bar, cryin’ and yellin’, and when Eddie asks her what’s wrong she tells him that when she was walking through the docks some guy with a tattoo on his face leapt on her and-” Bucky clenches his jaw. “And he raped her. She’d recognised him from the papers, a guy from Spillane’s gang. They called him Mad Dog Cumminskey. So he hands me a gun and tells me that if I have any sense of loyalty I’ll go down to the docks and I’ll put a bullet in his heart. And I hesitate- because this isn’t a back alley fight, y’know? But then I look a Micky and I remember Becky, all while Eddie’s tellin’ me that if I don’t do this he’ll never pay for Steve’s medicine again, and I-” He tries to compose himself, whether or not he does it well is something he doesn’t really want to know. “I had to.”

“And would you say that when you were under Hydra’s influence and told to kill people then, would it be the same case? That you had to?” Matt asks patiently, because Barnes’ voice conveys a terrible uncomfortable and if there was any way for them to make this easier on him he would, truly.

Bucky tries to stop his blood boiling, but jesus Matt is making hard. “Listen, I had no say in what I did for Hydra. No _fucking_ say.” His voice is cracking and hot tears are stinging his eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes, no one is implying you did. Well, the Prosecution is throwing around a lot of fancy terms, but it’s clear to anyone how much you suffered under their hand. But would you say there was anything you could’ve done against Hydra? Any way you could’ve stopped them? Any way you could’ve stopped yourself?”

“Of course I couldn’t stop them! You try stopping someone from electrocuting you when you’re strapped down to a chair. I wasn’t even out long enough to do anything. They put me in the cryofreeze, they take me out when they need me and that was it. The longest I had ever been out was when they wanted me to kill Steve-” A cry rises in his throat and subsequently cuts him off. “Look, it wasn’t my fault. All that shit they made me do- that wasn’t my fault. And that guy- that fucking scum of the earth who raped a fifteen year old- if I hadn’t done that then the next month when Steve had the worst fever he ever had then he woulda been six feet in the ground without the medicine and the doctor that Eddie provided. I did it for Steve, for my sister, for Susie who went through something that nobody should ever go through, so I’m not the guilty one here, alright? I am _not the guilty one_!” He doesn’t realise that his voice was raised so high until he finishes. Perversely, he hadn’t realised that tears had been falling until he notices the wetness on his cheeks.

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes. If you could please step down from the witness stand--” Matt begins quietly and Bucky shoves to his feet, wiping a ragged hand down his face as he pushes out of the wooden box and tries to breathe right as he crosses the echoing floor, squeezing his hands together to keep the right from shaking and the left from whirring as he collapses back into his seat.

He can feel the courtroom’s eyes on him, refuses to look up and meet the curious gazes, wiping away more stray tears on his bottom lashes.

A hand lands on the shoulder of his suit and Bucky jumps, whipping his head around with wide eyes. Steve is leaning over the barrier again, a solemn look on his face as he fingers squeeze tighter, his thumb rubs over the material comfortingly. Bucky bites his lip to keep it from trembling, nodding a tiny, silent thank you at Steve that he doesn’t need to say out loud to be clearly understood.

The blue eyes thankfully aren’t watering the way Bucky’s are, but the emotions in them seem to be skyrocketing just as high. Matt’s giving his official “we’re done with this witness” schpeel in the background and the judge is discussing something with the bailiff it sounds like, so Bucky figures what the hell, it wouldn’t kill the case to spend a second or too drowning in the soft look on his best friend’s face.

Then Steve’s pretty eyes cut to the side and harden and he can’t help but follow the gaze, turning a little to see what suddenly caught Steve’s attention.

Tony, sitting opposite them and _seething_ , his face set in an angry frown.

“Murderer,” He mouths, as if he was spitting out poison.

The hand on his shoulder suddenly clenches and it’s all Bucky can do not to shout with the sudden bruising grip. Instead he grits his teeth, carefully pries Steve’s fingers off of him. Steve is still staring at Tony, hasn’t noticed the five-finger bruise he’s inflicting, so pissed that Bucky’s surprised he hasn’t leapt out of his chair swinging yet.

“Pipe the fuck down,” he mutters under his breath, wrenching Steve’s hand off the rest of the way and shaking it a little. Steve blinks, tearing his eyes away from Tony to look back at Bucky, eyebrows furrowed and chest expanding noticeably with his breathing.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Bucky insists quietly, running his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand once before forcing himself to set it back down and clasp his hands in his lap, giving Steve one more encouraging look before turning back to the floor.

Tony’s lawyer is walking towards the jury, buttoning his suit top with a smug expression, so ridiculously sure of himself he’s got to be offending somebody. Besides, it wasn’t like he was that confidence in the case, was he?

Then he opened his mouth.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury,” Kile begins, standing stock straight and tall, the paradigm of professionalism and with that look, pompousness too. “Over the course of the past week, we have all sat in on the trial of James Barnes, the accused of murdering Tony Stark’s parents. Now it is not the murder itself in question, because that has been admitted by all parties. No, instead, it is the sanity of the murderer, of whether that man--”

An accusing finger without so much as a glance, like Bucky wasn’t even worth looking at.

“--should be held accountable for his actions against this country and its upstanding citizens. The defense has presented him as a helpless, apologetic, lovable and loving soldier, one that we’ve all known since childhood. But in this courtroom we have also revealed secrets of James Barnes that no one had known - this is a man who’s been addicted to violence since before a war had even begun, since he was nothing but a teenager. A man who killed outside of the law, a man who’s killed time and time again.

“And yet, with each of these acts of murder, James Barnes claims he is not at fault. There is always someone else to blame - the mob bosses, the war, the government agencies he’s worked for. But tell me, what does a man with a thousand reasons for the same act have, if not a need for that act? James Barnes is a murderer, and he’s been proven clever enough to escape any accusations of such.

“The defense has tried to turn you against my client - Tony Stark, one of the most well-respected business men of our country. He lost his parents because of that man. And perhaps even more shocking, we as a nation lost one of our greatest, brightest minds due to the killing hands of James Barnes. Tony Stark is not to blame - and the idea that he is using the courtroom for his own vendettas is quite preposterous. This case isn’t about a disgruntling childhood, conflict amongst previous-teammates. This is about a man getting away with murder because he wears the face of one of America’s sweethearts.”

The courtroom is dead silent, watching in stony awe as Kile pauses, looks at Bucky and the judge, then continues.

“It is your job, as American citizens, to defend this country to the truth. To the facts. And the facts are simple. James Barnes joined the Irish mob, developed an intrinsic need for violence, joined a world war, and has been killing for - how many different countries? - since. But he’s been killing our people, and they don’t want you to look at that. No one wants to talk about just how many lives the Winter Soldier has taken, because the pity you feel for his familiar face overrules the pain and horror that deadly assassin has caused.

“The facts, dear citizens, can’t be refuted. Was James Barnes tortured? Yes. How many of our prisoners of war have been tortured? How many men and women in this country suffer from PTSD, depression, scars and missing limbs? Now how many of that number would be allowed to get away with decades of murder simply because there was a proverbial chain around their wrist?

“It’s been proven, in news footage, that the Winter Soldier wasn’t even contained during his battles! Where are the chains? There weren't even always handlers. Walking totally free, but returning every time. Fauning is a psychological defense method - so he was attempting to please his captors in order to spare him pain. And by please, we mean murder dozens of innocent people. Does this sound like a hero? Does this sound like a man who you want walking on the streets, in the open air, around our wives and our children?

“So please, consider this, consider it all. James Barnes simply cannot be pardoned because he shares the name that we find in history books. James Barnes cannot be pardoned because he is not innocent. James Barnes has been a killer from the time he was devastatingly young, and it’s time he pays for those crimes. James Barnes, today, should be found guilty or all his sins, of all the damage he has done. Of all the people he has killed. James Barnes doesn’t belong on a pedestal, an image for our children to look up to and read about in school. James Barnes - the Winter Soldier - belongs in prison, where the murderers, the cold-blooded killers, the contracted assassins go. We are lucky today, to even have the chance to lock away a man of this caliber. A man who’s spilt so much blood in the name of nothing. A man...a man you _must_ find guilty.”

The final word - _guilty_ \- echoes through the courtroom, silence but for beating hearts, wide-eyed supersoldiers and an internally clapping Tony Stark. Then Kile Tucker’s expensive shoes click across the floor, tapping a death sentence like a lifeline monitor, and the dust settles in the air over the scrape of his wooden chair.

Guilty.

Matt breathes out through his nose, turning his head towards Foggy even though it doesn’t make the slightest difference. A single clap on his shoulder from his friend and Matt stands, grabbing his cane and buttoning his coat, stepping into the center of the floor.

And maybe, really, this was his boxing ring.

Except this time, the Murdock’s came to win.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he says with a slight bow of his head. "This trial has been... trying, at the best of times. What you've witnessed is perhaps one of the most controversial cases in American history.

“But it is not the fame of this case that the focus lays on, nor the various abundance of parties involved in its happenings. The Prosecution has presented a case of horror, the kind of terror intended to shock a verdict, words chosen carefully to instill fear when really, this is all so much simpler than that. There is one thing, and one thing only, that matters in the days we’ve spent here.” Matt steps forward and leans on his cane.

"Ladies and gentlemen, when you leave this courtroom you must ask yourself: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes - enemy of the state, or longest serving prisoner of war?” Matt pauses, letting the question sink into everyone’s heads. Once he’s sure they’ve all had the chance to at least consider the statement, Matt clears his throat and waves a hand in Foggy’s direction. “My partner and I have done our upmost to show you what James Barnes truly is - a best friend. So much so that he joined one of the most notorious mafias in history so that he could protect not only his sister, but our beloved Steve Rogers. So much so that when the dangers of World War Two came knocking at his door, instead of leaving Captain Rogers to fight it, he joined him and helped to quite literally shape the world as we know it. In fact, you could even say that so much so, after years of torture, of brainwashing and horrors beyond our imagination, James Barnes still came back. Not for us- For Steve Rogers." Matt pauses. He listens to the heartbeats - slightly fast. He has them.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you know these men. Grew up with stories of Captain America and Bucky Barnes, and heard all about Howard Stark's' great inventions. What we ask you to do is forget that. Forget that it's Tony Starks parents that were killed, that Steve Rogers is a national hero, as is Bucky Barnes. We need you to look at that man-" He points his finger at Bucky and hears their heartbeats increase. "And ask yourselves - friend or foe?"

Matt pauses, and covers his mouth and closes his eyes for a couple of seconds. What he says next will make or break this case.

"I understand that this will be an extremely tough decision for you. Lines are blurred and we have had to redefine moral standards. But I remember reading Mark Twain, who wrote 'In a republic, who is the country?'" Matt cocks his head to the side. "It's not the government, their job is to listen to you, the people, and act on your orders, they're a temporary servant. They're a mere part of the country.

"In a monarchy, it is the King or Queen and their family that are the country. But in a republic it is the common voice each of you.

"What you are asked to do is a solemn and weighty responsibility, and not lightly to be flung aside at the bullying of press or government. Each one of you must for yourself alone decide what you believe to be right. To decide it against your convictions is to be an unqualified and inexcusable traitor, both to yourself and to the country - If you alone of all the nation shall decide one way, according to your convictions of is right, you have this duty by yourself and by your country, to be truthful and be able to stand by your decision.

"Members of the jury- It does not matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn’t matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: the requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world — _"No, you move."_

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, when you walk out of this room, your job as an American citizen, above all else, is to voice your opinion. Do not fade into the background. If you believe that James Barnes is innocent, then in the name of god," Matt implores. "Speak for him."

The room is silent.

The room is silent for a long time.

People shift in their chairs. The clock on the wall ticks. Matt taps his foot. Steve keeps wrecking his hair running fingers through it.

The jury deliberates.

Tony’s pretty sure they’re gonna be gone forever. Maybe they just left.

Kile takes personal notes in the margins of one of his books.

Bucky’s pretty sure he doesn’t breathe for most of the hour they’re gone.

The entire room lights up. The door opens and the jury shuffles in and Matt’s reading their heartbeats but it's all over the place, Tony’s trying to read the head juror but he won’t look at any of them, Steve’s pretty sure he’s gonna wear a whole through the banister with his worrying hands.

"Ladies and gentleman of the jury," The judge rasps. "On behalf of the United State's court of law, I would like to thank you for your time and your consideration in this matter. We understand how difficult this has been for you, and so you are relieved from all further jury duty. Have you agreed upon a verdict?"

The head juror clears his throat, looking straight at the judge. “Yes, your Honor, we have.”

The judge leans forward on his podium, looking the jury over, and implores, “How say you?”

There is a beat of silence, and Steve’s fairly sure no one’s breathes.

“In the case of the United States of America vs. Sergeant James Barnes, the jury has returned the verdict as follows.” The man sucks in a breath, lifting his head and delivering the next sentence that could either destroy or fix everything Steve’s ever stood for in this country. “We, the jury, find James Barnes…

 

...guilty as charged.”

**Author's Note:**

> So there will be two more parts following this. The next may or may not begin with a certain soldier breaking his best friend out of jail. 
> 
> And hence, a Civil War may ensue. 
> 
> There's a playlist for all three parts that you can find [here!](http://8tracks.com/rumiodyn/let-him-bring-me-into-his-house-so-that-i-might-burn-it-down)
> 
> Thank you all for reading, we hope you enjoyed! If you want to come talk to us, we do a lot of collab ideas that you can find [here.](http://bucky-barnes-protection-squad.tumblr.com/)


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